#i will stand here and bang some pots and pans together

[lunartadpole]

Eddie learned about two months into dating him that Steve is an active sleeper.

He was always a bit hurt when Steve wouldn't stay the night at the trailer park; dreaded watching Steve's car drive away after a night in. At first, Eddie thought it was a hit and run situation, a one night stand that spans more than one night. And yeah, it makes sense; King Steve probably just wants a new way to get his dick wet, got tired of all the babes and such. Of course this thing they have - whatever that is - isn't serious. It makes sense and still, Eddie's hurt.

But then he starts noticing things. Like Steve's reluctance to leave but his refusal to fall asleep no matter how late it is. And it's not just with Eddie either. He's noticed that Steve always seems to clock out early at any overnight event their little group have - DnD nights in Wheelers basements, Dustin's sleepovers, hell, even Buckley's movie nights. Steve is always first to arrive and first to leave.

Eddie just can't figure out why.

He goes as far as to ask Robin. Because if anyone can give any insight into the mysterious life of Dethroned King Steve Harrington, it's Buckley. But even she has no idea. She says she hadn't even noticed.

He gets his answer a week later.

They're in Eddie's trailer. Steve drove around after his shift, they're lounging in his room, Steve sitting up again the headboard, Eddie practicing his guitar, and it's midnight, bordering on Steve's usual check out time. But Harrington's been complaining about a rough day at work - something about being swamped and Buckley ditching her shift for boobies, Munson! She ditched me for boobies - and Eddie can see his eyes fluttering and his head lolling before quickly shooting up again. Rinse and repeat. Until Steve finally begins to bustle up and leave.

Eddie begs him to stay, half because he wants him to and half because there's no way it's safe to drive home when you're two fleeting seconds away from dropping comatose. They argue back and forth, Steve typically reluctant and a bit…nervous? Scared? Eddie doesn't know. And it doesn't matter because he wears Steve down and soon enough Steve is wearing Eddie's pajamas and the two of them are cuddled up in bed together.

Using Steve as his own personal Teddy bear, Eddie sleeps soundly that night.

At least, until about three in the morning.

Ever since Vecna, Eddie hasn't been the heaviest of sleepers. So when he hears banging in the kitchen rattling through the thin membrane walls, he's upandatem pretty quickly, abruptly women up to the fact that his boyfriend isn't beside him in the bed anymore. Another bang comes from the kitchen.

Okay, he's panicking.

Armed with the old tire iron he keeps by his bed for just an occasion like this, Eddie creeps towards the kitchen, mind racing. Who the fuck is here? Did someone break in? Something? From another dimension? Images play in head like worn film, images of Chrissy Cunningham floating in his living room, the sound of her bones snapping eerily similar to the banging now.

What he is met with in the kitchen is nowhere near as scary, but ten times more weird.

Because Steve 'The Hair' Harrington is in the middle of his kitchen surrounded by what little pans and pots the Munson's own.

"Uhm…Stevie?" he calls, ever so softly. And then louder when he doesn't get a response. "Steve?"

Steve stands like a ghost in the shadows. Eddie can't help but stare at his face, so relaxed unlike anything he's ever seen before.

Then. He speaks.

"I swear I left it here…" Steve mumbles, to himself or maybe to the dark shadows surrounding. The words come out slow and monotone. Hushed, slurred together in a broken string of consciousness. It does nothing to ease Eddie's worry.

"Left what here?" he asks, looking around at the mess for some item of Steve's he might've lost. All the while Harington just stands there, dazed.

Then. "Flowers. Told Eddie I'd get him flowers."

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, pushing forward into his boyfriend's space and thoughtlessly cups his face in his hands, making him look at him. Steve's eyes are just barely open, and they're glazed over with this lost, far off look. He doesn't look at Eddie, rather through him.

And somehow, Eddie catches up, a scoff of disbelief leaving his lips. Who would've thought?

"Okay, alright sweetheart," the grin is prominent in his voice, dripping with fondness. "You're still asleep, huh?" Something inside him surges and he finds himself grazing his other hand faintly across Steve's forehead to brush his bed hair out of his face. His eyes are all the more clouded over in sweet nonsense as Eddie pushes his hair into something that doesn't resemble a sad brown mop.

"I can't…remember where…" Steve mumbles, trying to break free from Eddie's hold but ultimately failing. He lets his head drop against Eddie's neck.

"Okay, let's get you back to bed, alright?" Because that's what you're supposed to do with people who sleepwalk right? Never wake a sleepwalker, that's what they say isn't it? "Hold my hand, it's OK Stevie." Pressed up close against him, Eddie breathed in the smell of Farrah Faucet spray and citrus shampoo and led Steve back into his bedroom, hand in hand.

"How about you try to stay in bed now," he says, leading Steve as he leans against him, skin warm and citrus and weary against his own, feeling a little too much like something Eddie wants to keep holding onto.

"Got somewhere to be,"

"Not right now, cmon," Eddie gently eases Steve down onto the bed, and surprisingly, Steve lets him. Not long after, Eddie is beside him, holding onto him tight once more.

In the morning, Steve wakes up confused, like he's surprised he managed to stay in one spot all night, but doesn't mention anything about sleepwalking. He does ask Eddie, "Did you sleep well? I didn't wake you, did I?" and Eddie just kisses him, tells him, "Best sleep I've ever had. You should stay around more often."

And when Steve agrees, Eddie decides not to bring it up.

It happens a few more times after that. Not all the time but more often than not Steve will stay over Eddie will wake up to him wandering about the house. The majority of the time it's stupid stuff; Steve sluggishly pacing around the room, Steve mumbling sweet nonsense to himself, Steve trying to take a shower in the hallway. Pretty harmless stuff.

Except for the time it isn't.

That time, they're in Steve's house, big and empty. That time, Eddie wakes up at 4am and just barely catches sight of Steve's fleeting figure down the stairs. Like most times before, Eddie is quick to follow him down the stairs towards the living room, staring blankly out the window. A metallic glint flickers across Eddie's eyes. His eyes widen with concern when he realises it's a kitchen knife. Steve doesn't move, but he's breathing real heavy, like he's just waiting for something to happen.

"Steve, darling." He begins, hating how his voice is cracking. "Will you come back to bed? Please?"

This time, Steve shakes his head. Frantic. Paranoid. Eddie watches his grip on the knife tighten.

"Can't." Comes the raspy, hoarse reply. "The lights. It's out there. Swear I saw it. I swear-!"

Softly, Eddie shushes him before he can get more worked up. He stays put a good six feet away, entirely out of self preservation. Harrington's deadly with a weapon in his consciousness and Eddie wouldn't like to find out what he does in his sleep, thank you very much.

"Saw what, love?"

"I heard a thud. It's so cold."

Oh. Oh shit okay.

Eddie isn't unfamiliar with nightmares. God, after what he saw it'd be weird if he didn't have them. After Mike's apparently real psychic ex-girlfriend cut ties with The Upside Down, Eddie was a mess. He couldn't sleep, plagued with visions of terror bat's tearing away at his flesh bit by agonising bit. He can't count the number of times he called Steve in the late hours of the night in need of reassurance. To tell him that it is over now.

Steve was a rock for him. Eddie almost envied him, with how easily he managed to readjust back into normality. Never did it cross his mind it might've all been a facade.

"Steve," Eddie begins, firmly and unwavering. Slowly, he begins to etch more into Steve's space. "Listen to me. The gate is closed. Vecna and the rest of his little hell beasts are gone."

In front of him, Steve doesn't move. He doesn't even appear to have heard Eddie at all.

Eddie swallows, trying to push the thought that maybe, after so near death encounters, Steve's finally gone mad, come undone at the seams, and this is what his mental state has come too: armed with a scarily sharp knife, ready to fight any sudden movement.

"Do you think you could put down the knife, dear?" Eddie suggests lightly, gently touching the outside of his hand incase Steve needs some sort of anchor to come back to. Underneath the edges of his fingertips, Steve's touch is warm, his pulse comfortingly steady, and Eddie holds onto it, selfishly, a little longer than he should have, that tightness he is becoming so acquainted with returning to his chest. He then slips his hand further within Steve's own, carefully taking the knife from Steve's grip and interlocking their fingers as if it were the most natural thing ever. As if it had always been that easy.

"There we go," Eddie praises as he places the blade down on the coffee table. "See? All better now."

"Better…"

"You're safe, Steve. I'm safe. Everyone is safe. Those things can't hurt you anymore."

"But- the lights-"

"Are fine." Steadily, Eddie begins to back out of the room, gently pulling Steve along with him. "Now let's get you back to bed, yeah? You still gotta get your full twelve hours of beauty sleep don't you?"

A dopey smile ghosts across Steve's lips as he huffs a laugh. It's barely anything. But it's enough for Eddie.

"Yeah you do," he teases. They're in the bedroom now. Eddie guides Steve underneath the duvet. As soon as he hits the soft cushions, he curls around himself like a child, protecting himself from the intangible cold or phantom nightmares, while refusing to loosen his grip on his boyfriend's hand. Eddie feels his throat close.

He has questions. How long has Steve been having these nightmares? How many of them result in sleepwalking? How many of them are violent enough to grab a fucking kitchen knife? Why didn't Steve tell him sooner?

But they can wait until morning.

#eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #steve/eddie #steveddie

[xxsycamore]

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬? ❞

╰┈➤ ⁉️ Everyone is acting so strange today, and Sebastian seems to be the only one noticing it.

Sebastian, Comte, Napoleon, Theodorus, Vincent, Mozart, Jean, Arthur, Isaac, Leonardo, Dazai • rating: G • tags: April Fools' Day; Pranks and Practical Jokes; poor sebas; Humor; Crack • wordcount: 1,682 • masterlist

a/n: HAPPY APRIL FOOLS! After Dazai pranking everyone and then everyone pranking Dazai, it seems like this year's target is Sebas…

It's not every day that Sebastian allows himself the indulgence of enjoying a drink with his masters, even when they so generously invite him to the table in the game room. The events of last night are but a blur in his memory now, as he's not the best at holding his liquor and neither has their immunity to hangovers. But a butler must be prim and proper at all times! While he's on duty, that's it. So that's why he allowed himself the fun of last night, but is readily up and out of his bed early in the morning today.

He enters the kitchen, humming the tune to Mozart's Turkish March in this tranquil moment of being the only soul awake in the whole mansion, on his way to begin preparing breakfast-

"Oh, good morning Sebas. I'm already done with some things here, figured I might help you."

"My! What a nice surprise Monsieur Napoleon, thank you."

Huh.

"M-M-M-Monsieur Napoleon what are you doing here????"

"Helping you with breakfast."

"No, gods, I was wondering why are you awake at such an early hour-"

Napoleon looks at him dumbfounded. And so does Sebas, mirroring him. Granted, there are dark circles under his eyes but that hardly does anything about the vigor with which he moves the frying pan and multitasks with the preparation of another ingredient at the same time.

"Is it that strange that I felt like waking up earlier today?"

Well, yes it is! That's what Sebastian wants to shout at the top of his lungs, but he can only blink mesmerized instead. Fearing that he might offend him in some way if he keeps this up, he saves his confusion to himself and gets back on track with his task.

The breakfast preparation goes on swimmingly with Napoleon's help, even if he strangely seems to have forgotten how to cook all of a sudden so he needs some serious memory refreshment... Sebastian blames it on his lack of sleep, of course that would be the reason.

Soon the dining room begins filling with the real early-bird residents that pose no surprises for Sebastian, and the plates are already waiting in front of them like clockwork.

"Pancakes again? I'm starting to get tired of this. You got something else for me, Sebastian?"

The sound of pots and pans falling to the floor greatly concerns the van Gogh brothers at the table after the younger one's question, but soon after the butler emerges from the kitchen with a haphazardly pieced-together English breakfast. He places it in front of Theodorus who asked for the change, waiting. Waiting to see if he's going to eat it at all.

"Here you go, master Theodorus. Do you need extra jam, or-"

"No need, looks more than enough to me. Why are you staring at me like that? Is it poisonous?"

"Gods, no, how could it be! I'm merely...surprised is all."

Vincent chuckles a little at the exchange, preparing to dig in on his portion of...pancakes, fortunately. But he pauses.

"Theo, would you hand me the syrup? I feel like eating something sweeter today!"

"Stand up and take it yourself."

Sebastian's eyes are about to pop out of his eye sockets.

"Messieurs, is everything alright with-"

The door opens with a bang that belongs to no gentlemen living in this household.

And certainly not to Le Comte de Saint-Germain.

"'morning."

"M-monsieur le Comte, what are you wearing?"

Comte's casual walk to his place at the head of the table with hands in his pockets is rivaled only by the even more casual look he sports today, with a halfway-open shirt and a pair of checkered trousers that don't really match. To finish off the look, his hair is a mess. He lands with a thud on his chair, raising his feet to rest crossed on the table.

"What am I wearing? Since when did you start asking so many questions?"

"I'm terribly sorry."

Comte sighs and snaps his fingers repeatedly in the air. "Coffee. Now."

"I already brew a pot of your preferred morning tea-"

"Don't make me repeat myself, butler."

"I got it."

On his way to the kitchen, Sebastian overhears Comte slamming his fist on the table telling everyone that from now on, they'll be paying rent.

Sebastian must be sleeping. This has to be some kind of nightmare. There's no other logical explanation.

When he returns to the dining room the door opens to welcome another couple of residents - Jean and Mozart.

"Good morning Herr Mozart. Good morning to you too, Monsieur Jean, what a surprise!"

Mozart and Jean both turn to Sebastian...and they give him their brightest smiles. Imaginary flowers bloom in the air around them. They greet in a cheerful voice together as one, and it's the most beautiful melody. "Good morning, Sebastian!"

"We decided to grab a bite before our trip to town today."

"Your... your what?"

"That's right, I'll be taking Jean in town with me. The carriage is already waiting at the gate."

Mozart going to...town?? With a carriage?? With Jean??

"Aha! The trace of this bloody delicious smell seems to have led me to this dining room!"

Now what? Sebastian turns in the direction of Arthur's voice albeit it sounds a little different than usual, as if he's playing a role... and there he is, having just entered the dining room... with a looking glass in his hand and a pipe in his mouth.

"Good morning, Master Arthur. Your observation skills are on point as always. What's with the curious accessories?"

Sebastian doesn't know why he asks anymore.

"Why, I'll be going on a Sherlock Homles book fair later today! You know it's all the hype these days, I figured it's the best place to learn something about my beloved character that I don't know. You know my methods, Watson. Haha!"

Thank god, Sebastian is not the only one about to faint right now. Given how normal everything else was taken by his housemates. Theo says the one thing Sebastian couldn't bring himself to say.

"This idiot has reached rock bottom in his search for skirts he hasn't yet fooled around with."

Arthur looks...grossed out. As if he's been made fun of by Dazai, or something similar. Actually, there haven't been a great deal of chances to see Arthur sporting this expression. It's definitely strange.

"Theo, could you not be so foul-mounted, please? You know I hold no interest in the fair sex."

"A-Are you feeling well, Master Arthur? Maybe when you drink your coffee-"

"Ah no please, tea it is for me!"

"Are you feeling well, Master Arthur?????"

"Sebastian seems really uptight today. Are YOU feeling well, Sebastian? Why don't you sit with us for a while?" Jean smiles at him again. It's a smile Sebastian wants to protect. It should be automatically making him feel better but it only serves to increase his confusion. He even sat next to Comte. Comte doesn't deserve this! At least not with his current behavior. Oh how strange of a thought that is.

"I appreciate your concern, but, I just need to know what is happening with all of you today. I can't be calm until I ensure that you, my masters, are alright, and I demand you tell me what is happening this instant!"

A near dozen pairs of eyes blink at Sebastian as if he's indeed the crazy one. He sits down on the offered chair, then quickly stands up again. "No, please tell me what is-"

The door opens yet again and this time it's Leonardo and Isaac who enter. Sebastian paces left and right, trying to spot empty plates to take to the kitchen before he can witness anything weird again-

"Isaac, mio amico, can you please not smoke in here? You know I can't stand the smell..."

"AAAAAAAGH!" Sebastian yells, breaking his professional image and running straight towards the door. He can't do this. It doesn't matter if he escapes now. It's just a nightmare. Just a nightmare-

He nearly crashes into the person entering at the same time.

"Hello Sebas-kun~"

Through the DOOR?

Sebastian breaks. Like a stone statue slammed by the pressure of a cataclysm despite the decades of stoicism, even if he thought he'd seen everything...

He falls to his knees in defeat.

...

...

"APRIL FOOLS'!"

Before he has a chance to remove his hands from his eyes where he tried to block the world, a wave of residents quite literally falls over him, each embracing him and laughing.

Okay, NOW he's confused.

"April fools? But- But my calendar said it's-"

"Someone had a little too much to drink last night and had to be carried to his room... let's say we meddled a little with it. Sorry, Sebas." Napoleon pats his shoulder. "Okay, can I go to sleep now?"

Sebastian laughs, and despite what he predicted for himself just a minute ago, it's not out of descending to madness. It's a genuine laughter, one he hasn't had in a while.

"I would never guess you could be capable of doing such a thing! Every one of you! My god, you got me quite well."

"Heh, guess you don't know us well enough then, eh? Remember this well, some of those guys are going to remember it for the rest of their second lives." Leonardo says, finally lighting that cigarillo. Good thing they didn't have to put on the act for longer than that.

"Indeed. I hope we weren't too harsh on you, Sebastian. My residents are always such naughty boys." Comte consoles, suspiciously looking as if it was his idea all along.

Sebastian chuckles some more, then he stands to his feet, dusting off his uniform and letting out a small cough behind his fist.

"My masters, that was indeed too naughty of you! I appreciate seeing you have fun, and I have to admit, you got me well. But that doesn't mean I won't find it fitting to flick some foreheads."

"Sebaaas, can we please have our usual breakfast now?"

"Why yes, coming right away!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @galaxyprison @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikemen #ikemen series #ikevamp comte #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp jean #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp dazai #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikemen vampire comte #ikemen vampire jean #ikemen vampire mozart #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire isaac #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikemen vampire dazai #otome

[0cta9on]

Unlikely Duet - 2

length: +4k words

Genre: Fluff

Newjeans Minji x Male Reader (OC)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

Yuno's POV

I’m walking through the familiar halls of Evergreen High School. The usual crowd of students walk past me like shadows, indifferent faces that I never bothered to remember in my almost three years of being a student here. The sun casts a warm glow through the windows, shining much brighter than usual. It was a welcome contrast to the darkness and rain from the other day. Suddenly, none other than Minji Kim bumps into me, a wide smile on her face. 

“Hey Yuno, mind if I walk with you?” she asks, her attitude much giddier than her usual composed demeanor.

I blinked, my usual guard lowered by her smile. “Sure, whatever,” I utter.

We walk together through the maze of hallways with no destination in mind. Minji’s arm brushes against me as she hums a tune of a song I’ve never heard, the subtle contact sending a jolt down my spine. I instinctively flinch, eliciting laughter from her. Shrugging off the moment, I turn my head away, attempting to conceal the embarrassment on my face.

“Y’know, Yuno,” she says, her voice lowering to a whisper. “You’re not as tough as people think you are.”

I raise an eyebrow at her, caught off guard by the random comment. Before I could respond, Minji suddenly pushed me against a nearby locker, her face dangerously close to mine. “But I like that about you,” she confesses, a hint of mischief in her voice.

My eyes grow wide as a flush of warmth spreads across my cheeks. I open my mouth to protest, but no sound comes out. Minji starts closing the gap between us, her eyes shut and her lips puckered. I tried to back away, but to no avail. My heart starts to pound in my chest as she slowly gets closer and closer. Without any other option in sight, I shut my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable…

*BANG BANG BANG*

My eyes shoot open as I jolt awake. I look around at my surroundings, feeling disoriented. Couch. Window. Minji Kim. Flat-screen TV. Wait…

“Yuno! I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last 20 minutes!”

I whip my head around to the source of the voice. Minji is standing in front of me wearing her school uniform, a frying pan and a metal pot in her hands. 

“W-what?” I grunt, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My heart rate starts to calm down as I realize that everything that just occurred was a dream.

“You’re gonna be late for school at this rate. Here,” she says, placing my now clean school uniform on my lap. “Your breakfast is probably cold by n-”

“Breakfast?” I interrupt, wondering if I was hearing things. As if on cue, my stomach begins to rumble, signaling my hunger.

Minji’s cheeks turn pink as she averts her gaze, her fingers toying with her hair. “Uhh yeah, I made some waffles if you want, I don’t know if they’re any good…”

Without warning, my legs guide me to the kitchen as the scent of food beckons me. On the table, I see a plate of waffles, stacked three high and topped with whipped cream, maple syrup, and a couple sliced strawberries. I grab the fork lying next to the plate and begin digging in, scooping large forkfuls of waffle into my mouth.

“O-oh,” Minji stutters, her mouth forming into an amused smirk. “I’m glad you like them, Yuno.”

“...Fhanksh,” I mumble through a mouthful of waffle. Minji turns her face, attempting to stifle her laughter. I go back to finishing my first home cooked meal in a long while, feeling sheepish.

“I have to go in early today for a student council meeting, do you mind locking the door on your way out?” she asks, placing a house key next to me on the table.

I turn to her, my eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You’re giving a stranger a key to your house?” 

“You’re not exactly a stranger, Yuno,” Minji reassures me, flashing a warm smile. I feel my heart skip a beat for some odd reason.

She retrieves her phone from the pocket of her blazer, studying the screen with a serious expression. She sighs, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “Look, I really have to go, can you just please do me this one favor?” she pleads, slowly backing away.

I gave her a nod, knowing I didn’t have any other choice. Minji mouths a quick ‘Thank you’ before disappearing down the hall and out the front door. I finish the rest of my breakfast and place my dirty dish in the sink.

“What the hell have I gotten into?” I ask myself as I look out at the sun through the window, its warm glow looking much brighter than usual.

______________________________________________________________

I step out the front door of Minji’s house and lock the door behind me, sliding the house key into the pocket of my uniform pants. The fabric of the uniform feels softer than I remember. Must be nice to be able to afford good detergent.

Heading toward Evergreen High School, I followed the familiar path I had walked with Minji the night before. Upon reaching the campus, I made a beeline to my first period class. Thanks to Minji’s wake up call, I end up arriving five minutes early, a stark contrast to my usual tardiness.

Before I could take my seat in the back corner of the room, an announcement echoed through the PA system, summoning me to the principal’s office. “Yuno Lin to the principal’s office, Yuno Lin to the principal’s office. Now.”

I feel everyone’s gaze fixate on me, their faces betraying a mixture of curiosity and fear. I shrug it off and start walking to Mr. Geier’s office, anticipating the same inevitable conversation that awaits me.

______________________________________________________________

“You’re lucky I convinced them not to press charges,” Principal Geier says as he stares me down from behind his desk. His heavy breathing and his furrowed brows signify the anger he feels, a look I’m all too familiar with. 

I lean back in my chair, uninterested with whatever else he has to say. Principal Geier always does the same old song and dance everytime this happens. I kick someone’s ass, Geier does his whole brownnosing routine to get the parents to not press charges, and then he yells at me meaninglessly for half an hour. It happens so often that I’ve almost started to grow fond of these talks.

This time however, Mr. Geier lets out a long sigh instead of going on his angry tirade like usual. “How’s your father?” he asks, his voice sounding uncharacteristically sympathetic.

I raise my eyebrow at his sudden change of tone. “Why do you care?”

Mr. Geier leans forward, his hands folding on his desk. “Yuno, I know things have been tough for you since your mom’s passing. It’s not an easy situation to handle alone.”

I narrow my eyes, raising my guard. “What the hell does this have to do with Bryce’s parents not pressing charges?” I retort, poison seething in my voice.

“Because you can’t keep doing this, Yuno,” Mr. Geier asserts, raising his tone. “Look, I get that you're still upset that your mom died, really, I understand that.” He clears his throat before continuing, his demeanor much calmer. “But you can’t keep this up. How do you think your father would feel with his wife gone and his only son in jail?”

I shoot up out of my seat, slamming my hands against his desk. “What the fuck do you know!? What the fuck does that have to do with anything!?” I scream, tears welling up in my eyes.

Mr. Geier rises, leaning towards me. “Yuno, I will not have you disrespecting me in my office. I’m only trying to hel-”

“I don’t need your help!! I never fucking asked you to help!!”

“YUNO, Y-”

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing Minji standing there, a bewildered look on her face. I turn my head away from her, furiously rubbing the tears from my eyes.

Mr. Geier clears his throat. “Yes Minji, did you need something?” he asks, his tone much calmer compared to the screaming competition two seconds ago. 

“U-uh, I just needed to drop off some paperwork,” Minji stammers, her voice filled with concern. “S-sorry, is this a bad time?” Her eyes flicker nervously between us.

“N-no, it’s fine, just give it here,” Mr. Geier replies, reaching for the papers. 

Minji gingerly places the papers into his hand before backing off, stealing a brief glance at me. “I-I’m just gonna go, Principal Geier.” An awkward laugh escapes her lips as she exits, shutting the door behind her.

Silence envelopes the room as Mr. Geier and I remain, the tension palpable. “I’m going back to class,” I mutter, storming out before he can say another word.

______________________________________________________________

The rest of my first period goes normally without any hiccups. I wouldn’t consider myself a model student, but I do the work and take the notes. Once the bell rings, I gather my things and head to my second period class, English. Upon entering the classroom, I walk through the row of desks to my regular spot in the back corner of the room. Without anything else to do, I survey my surroundings. A group of popular students talk loudly on the far right side, while some students at the front are quietly reading or working on homework for other classes. I notice the popular group start whispering amongst themselves and laughing while pointing at a girl reading a book at the front. Suddenly, one of the boys departs from the group and walks towards the girl, a malicious look on his face. I recognize him as Tyler McGraw, one of Bryce’s friends and another member of the football team. I keep my guard up, sensing trouble.

“Hey Winter, what are you reading?” Tyler asks as he snatches the book out of the girl’s hands. He pretends to skim the pages before tossing the book behind him, laughing. The girl - Winter, I think her name is - simply watches in fear, her hands shaking. “Anywho, I heard from my friend Veronica that you called her a bitch behind her back. Is that true?” He gestures to his friends, and one of the girls (presumably Veronica) bursts into laughter.

“N-n-n-no, I-I didn’t s-say that at all,” Winter stutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, I have a few witnesses that say otherwise.” Tyler claims, triggering more laughter from his group. The commotion captures the attention of the entire room. “So I guess we’re just gonna have to sue for defamation of character.”

Winter’s eyes grow wide in shock. “W-w-w-what? But I-”

“We could sweep this entire thing under the rug for a fee,” Tyler interrupts, mimicking a “money” gesture with his fingers.

Tears start to well up in Winter’s eyes. The rest of the students simply watch in anticipation, not daring to intervene. “I-I-I d-don’t have any m-money…” Winter whimpered, her voice breaking.

“That’s just too bad, Winter. I guess your old man is gonna have to pay for it then,” Tyler snickers. Witnessing her distress, I exhale wearily, rising from my seat and heading towards them. Bystanders gradually retreat, anticipating a potential fight. I position myself between Winter and Tyler, squarely facing him. The entire room fell silent, even the popular group halting their laughter. 

“The fuck do you want?” he sneered, practically spitting in my face. 

I reach into my pocket, retrieving a couple crumpled dollar bills from my wallet. “Here. That should be enough to pay your stupid fee,” I gruffly declare, shoving the money into his chest. “Now go sit down.”

He grabs the money and scoffs, retreating towards his group of friends. I turn around and kneel in front of Winter. “You alright?” I murmur, trying my best to sound reassuring. Winter offers a small nod, wiping away her tears. “Good,” I state before standing up and retrieving her book that got thrown, placing it on her desk and returning to my seat.

Not even two seconds later, the English teacher enters the room, completely oblivious to what just went down. 

______________________________________________________________

Minji’s POV

Replaying the unsettling scene from Principal Geier’s office in my head sends a shiver down my spine. Their muffled screams echoed through the walls, revealing a side of both of them that I have never witnessed before.

Part of my duties as student council president is handing out various paperwork to the teachers, which grants me the extra luxury of skipping my first two classes. I was ahead in both of them anyways, so it’s not like I was missing anything. My next stop is Mr. Fillips, the English teacher. I peer through the window to his classroom and notice that he isn’t there. Instead, my attention was drawn to Tyler McGraw, engaged in a conversation with a visibly distressed girl. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but whatever it is, it’s making her cry. Ready to intervene, I hesitate once I see an unexpected person emerge - Yuno. My eyes widen and I instinctively clutch the stack of papers to my chest, fearing Yuno might be drawing into another fight.

My worries are laid to rest as Yuno shoves something into Tyler’s chest and says something, causing him to back away. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that the situation didn’t escalate any further. Yuno further surprises me with an unexpected display of kindness as he kneels beside the crying girl, offering comfort. He doesn’t act anything like how Hanni made him sound. He’s… gentle and kind and caring. I don’t condone his previous actions, but maybe there’s more to him than the rumors suggest.

Suddenly, Yuno stands up and turns towards the windows, causing me to instinctively kneel down behind the windows, away from his vision. An odd thought crosses my mind - Why am I hiding from him? It’s not like he hasn’t seen me before.

“Uh, are you okay, Minji?”

The sudden voice startles me as I look up and see Mr. Fillips, a quizzical expression on his face. “Yeah, I just dropped something, hehe…” I get up off the floor, brushing the dust off my skirt. “Actually, I was just looking for you. Here you go,” I say as I hand him a small stack of papers.

“Thank you, Minji. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little late to class.” He gives me a small nod before entering his classroom. As I start to walk away, my gaze lingers on Yuno for a second, an unexplainable flutter resides in my chest.

______________________________________________________________

Yuno’s POV

The next two periods continued on as normal with no further incidents. The bell rings, signaling the end of the third period and ushering the much-needed lunch break.

Entering the cafeteria, I quickly move through the lunch line and get my food. I then head to an empty table at the edge of the room. I sit alone as everyone is too afraid to get within five feet of me. Or so I thought.

While picking at my food, an unusual hush fell over the room. I glanced up, only to find a familiar looking boy with black hair nonchalantly placing his tray next to mine.

“Hi. Yujin Han at your service,” he greeted with a goofy smile, extending his hand towards me.

Momentarily taken aback, I hesitated before accepting the hand shake. “Uh, I’m Yuno,” I mumble awkwardly.

Yujin enthusiastically shakes my hand. “I wanted to personally thank you for helping me out with Bryce. Since he’s been in the hospital, I feel like I can finally breathe again.”

Puzzled, I began, “What do you…” Then, it dawned on me - this was the freshman that Bryce had been tormenting.

Yujin leaned back in his chair, a mix of gratitude and relief evident in his eyes. “I just moved here not too long ago. I thought things would be different here, but I guess being the new kid put a target on my back.” His expression shifts to a more introspective gaze. “It was like hell for weeks. I thought it would never end. But then you stood up to him. You saved me.”

Yujin’s expressions of gratitude felt foreign to my ears. I didn’t know how to respond. I just did what I always do and kicked some guy’s ass. I never expected to get thanked for it.

“Yeah, no problem,” is all I can mutter. I groan as I feel my head start to ache, the sudden influx of social interaction in the last two days starting to take a toll on me.

As if on cue, another person appears at my table.

“C-c-can I sit here?” a small voice asked. I glance up to see the girl from my English class, Winter, standing across from me.

Before I could even open my mouth, Yujin answered, “Yeah, sure! The more the merrier!”

I sighed and gave Winter a reluctant nod. A hint of a smile appears on her face as she takes a seat next to me. My headache intensifies slightly as I find myself suddenly surrounded by two people.

Winter clears her throat. “I-I just wanted to thank you for helping me earlier.” She pulls a $10 bill out of her pocket and hands it to me. “I know it’s not much, but I hope this is enough to pay you back.”

I eye the money in her hand and shake my head. “It’s fine. You don’t have to pay me back.” 

She shoves the money into the palm of my hand. “I insist. Please accept it as a token of my gratitude.”

I tried to hand the money back to her, but she was surprisingly strong. After many futile attempts, I sighed and pocketed the money. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I insist. You saved me.”

Yujin pipes up. “He saved you too? Wow, you’re like a superhero or something, Yuno!”

I groan, the throbbing in my head slowly increasing. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a hero.”

“But you totally are, dude! Right, uhh… What’s your name?” Yujin inquires, motioning towards Winter.

“M-my name is Winter,” she mumbled in response.

Yujin reached over me, extending his hand towards her. “Yujin Han, at your service.” She timidly shook his hand, casting a nervous smile.

“I-I agree with Yujin. Y-you are like a hero, Yuno,” she utters. Despite their good intentions, I can’t help but feel irked at the label.

“I’m not a hero, alright. I just don’t like bullies,” I responded curtly. 

The “end of lunch” bell rings and I immediately toss out my trash, briskly walking towards the exit of the cafeteria.

“See you around, Yuno!” I heard Yujin yell from behind me, drawing unwanted attention in my direction. I increase my pace without looking back.

I’ve spent the last two years at Evergreen with people being too scared to even breathe around me. Now, I’ve talked to a total of three people in the past two days, a new record as far as I’m concerned. A part of me felt drained from the sudden social interaction, but in the back of my mind, it felt… nice.

______________________________________________________________

The remainder of the day unfolds smoothly. As I approach the front gate to leave campus, I spot Minji talking to a group of girls and remember that I have to return the house key she gave me. 

“Minji!,” I called out, catching her attention along with a mix of reactions from her friends. A girl with cat-like features whispers something to the tallest one, while the one with glasses shoots me an unreadable glare. The shortest in the group gives me a mischievous smile while nudging Minji in the ribs. Retrieving the key from my pocket, I hand it over to Minji. 

“Here’s your house key. I made sure to lock the front door before I left,” I mention, doing my best to sound casual.

Minji stutters, a noticeable blush painting her cheeks as she takes the key from my hands. “O-oh, thanks, she responds, slipping the key into her blazer pocket.

As I turn to leave, the short girl stops me, an impish grin on her face. “Hold on, why are you leaving so soon? Minji, aren’t you gonna introduce us?” She nudges Minji, who now sports an even deeper shade of pink.  

“U-uh, I guess. Girls, this is Yuno. Yuno, these are my friends Hanni, Danielle, Haerin, and Hyein.” Minji introduces, trying to regain her composure.

Her group of friends gives me varying looks, ranging from curiosity to amusement. Hanni, the short one with a weird smile, extends her hand towards me. “Nice to meet you, Yuno. Tell me, how do you know our dear Minji?,” she interrogates.

I sigh, realizing that I have to navigate yet another social interaction. “We met in detention,” I answered curtly.

“Hmm, and how did you have Minji’s house key?” Hanni continues. Despite her innocent look, the smile on her face is like a red flag, warning me to leave the conversation as soon as possible.

“That’s between me and Minji,” I say in a slightly annoyed tone. I glance at Minji, who’s as red as a tomato at this point. “If you're done with your little interrogation, I’m gonna go,” I give them a nod before turning around and leaving, their gazes burning a hole in the back of my head as I set my sights towards my house.

______________________________________________________________

Minji’s POV

I step towards Hanni, my hands on her shoulders as I shake her in disbelief. “Hanni, what is wrong with you!?” I exclaim, frustration evident in my voice.

Hanni giggles, her eyes shut in laughter. “Whaaat, I’m just trying to get to know your new frienddd,” she teases, her mischievous grin widening.

Haerin examines my expression with her cat-like eyes. “Are you two dating?” she asks, genuine curiosity written on her face.

“NO!” I retort, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. I narrow my eyes at Haerin. “We barely even know each other.”

Hyein interjects with a playful smirk. “You should invite him to hang out with us! He seems nice!”

Danielle adjusts her glasses, giving Hyein a disapproving look. “He’s not, but I’ll explain that later.” She turns to me, a serious expression on her face. “As your vice president, I advise that you stay away from that boy; he could ruin your reputation. And you can do a lot better than him, Minji.”

“C’mon Dani, give Yuno a chance,” Hanni says, leaning her arm on Danielle’s shoulder. “He already spent the night at her house, isn’t that right, Minji?” The atmosphere suddenly turns tense as Danielle, Haerin, and Hyein wear looks of disbelief on their faces. I cover my face with my hands, wanting to disappear from this awkward moment.

Haerin’s eyes widen as she exchanges a surprised look with Hyein. “I never thought I’d see the day our Minji brings a boy home.”

Hyein nods in agreement, clearly taken aback. “Yeah that’s… unexpected. B-but good for you, Minji,” she stammers, trying to be supportive.

Danielle, who usually maintains her composure, drops her jaw in shock. “Wait, you slept with him? Are you serious, Minji?”

I scramble to find the right words to explain myself, feeling the weight of their stares. “I-it’s not what you think! He offered to walk me home after detention, a-and it started raining, and… and, well, it’s not like we did anything! He slept on the couch, and I was upstairs, and…”

Hanni wipes a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “You should see the look on your face right now, Minj. It’s hilarious!”

“A-anyways, I have a student council meeting to attend. I’ll see you guys later,” I say before briskly walking away, my gaze fixed on the ground.

Danielle clears her throat, regaining her composure as she follows behind me. The rest of the girls say their goodbyes as we part ways. As we navigate through the school corridors, my mind drifts back to Yuno. This mysterious boy has suddenly entered my life, throwing it for a loop. A sense of foreboding travels up my spine as I imagine what could result from that fateful meeting.

#newjeans #kim minji #newjeans minji #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #minji x male oc #newjeans minji x male oc #minji x male reader #newjeans minji x male reader #fluff #minji fluff #newjeans minji fluff

[slptkns]

I'm really enjoying your fics! Can I request a comfort fic where Vessel comforts the reader after they've had a bad day?

Of course!! I hope this is alright! I've been so busy with work, gonna try and get some more requests out this weekend though! Thank you for the request love, and I hope you're doing well!

You really tried to to hold it together before getting to your apartment. You wanted nothing more than to be okay, than to walk into your home and be completely fine. But your brain was not letting that happen.

Tears pricked your eyes as you neared your door and sniffled slightly. You were trying your absolute hardest to not cry, you did not need anyone seeing you so distressed.

You opened the door of you apartment and walked in. You closed the door behind you and your back hit the wood. You slid down the door and a sob wracked your body. You pulled your knees into you and tried to catch your breath.

"My love," Vessel caught you off guard, causing you to slightly jump, "what's wrong?"

You could not answer. You looked up at him with big, sad eyes, and your breath caught in your throat. Vessel walked over to you from the couch and crouched down in front of you.

"May I?" He asked before making any moves towards you.

You nodded at him and he was quick to pull you into his arms. You leaned into his touch and let out another sob as soon his arms were all the way around you. Your forehead pressed to his shoulder, tears running down your cheeks and onto his hoodie. His hand rubbed your back.

"You're okay," his voice was soft, "I promise, nothing is going to harm you."

You gulped for air and your grip on him tightened. He was your lifeline and you were not letting go. You could not talk at all, it took all you could do to actually keep breathing.

Once you had calmed down, Vessel slowly pulled away from you and placed his hand below your chin, lifting it up so you could see him. "Would you like to talk about it?"

When you nodded at him, he cocked his head, waiting for you to tell him about what had upset you so deeply.

You still struggled to breathe, but words started to form, "It was just one thing- One thing after the other! People are so mean!"

Vessel was listening intently, his thumb still under your chin. He nodded at you and encouraged you to keep speaking.

"Ves, I'm just- I'm so fucking tired," you pouted at him.

"Come on," He stood up, pulling you with him. "I'll get you some tea."

He walked you to the couch and sat you down. He walked towards your kitchen and you waited patiently for the tea. You started to get caught up in your thoughts again, until you suddenly realized it'd been a few minutes and it was oddly silent. And then a bang came from the kitchen.

You stood up and rushed towards Vessel and found him standing in front of a counter, and several pots and pans at his feet. His hand was on his head and turned towards you slowly.

A smile began to pull at your lips and you stifled a laugh as Vessel looked at you. The image of everything falling on top of him was too much and you forgot about everything that had happened to you that day.

"Where the fuck do you keep your kettle?"

You promptly lost it. You were doubled over, absolutely losing it. You heard Vessel let out a little huff.

"I could have a concussion and you're laughing at me." You knew because of Sleep he in fact did not have a concussion. His shoulders dropped, he relaxed and watched you. "Well, I'm glad I could make you laugh."

"Come here," You, still laughing, walked over to him, "It should be here." You pointed to a cabinet and pulled it out.

You were wiping tears from your eyes as Vessel gently took the kettle from you.

"Can I trust you to make it by yourself, or do I need to supervise? Since you're so worried you may have a concussion."

Vessel let out a loud laugh, before glaring at you. "I'm going to ignore that since you had a bad day." He paused, crossing his arms, "Can you help?"

You were sent into another fit of laughter. Vessel groaned and did not respond. At least you were laughing instead of sobbing so hard you couldn't breathe.

Vessel's arms wrapped around your waist and he placed his chin on you head. You made the tea, and asked him to watch but you knew he was too caught up in you to even listen to your instructions.

Your day had started off horribly, but it wasn't ending that way. You were thankful for Vessel. Even if he couldn't find the kettle in your kitchen or make tea for you by himself.

#sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token vessel #vessel x reader #sleep token vessel x reader #ask #anon #answered

[keepthetension]

saw some photos drop for my stand in and rushed over to squee with everyone else! but the pics aren't on here, so i am banging pots and pans together and screeching for the poom phuripan enjoyers to assemble

special shout out to:

the fit of this t-shirt

THE VEINS <3

i've never posted this many photos to tumblr before so it seems like A LOT! will post the stills of up poompat and the couple shots here

#my stand in the series #poom phuripan #my stand in #he looks sads again. i do not like :( #but i am very grateful for the veins

[glaivenoct]

Sending character(s)= Noctis & Nyx

Thanks for sending one, friend! :D (Character Ask Meme here)

Once again Brina fails to answer things without rambling at least once ;u;

***Noctis***

1.) sexuality headcanon: Gay, gay. He gay. I also find ace Noct very valid. 2.) otp: NyxNoct, of course!!! <3 Shocker, I know :p 3.) brotp: Heh, this is silly but, let me die on my niche crossover hill of princely best friends Noctis & Zagreus from Hades. NoctZag? ZagNoct? Prince BFFs for life!! ;u; 4.) notp: I- imma just keep those to myself QuQ 5.) first headcanon that pops into my head: Stand by Me is actually a lullaby Aulea would sing to Noctis in the short time she spent with him when he was a baby. 6.) favorite line from this character: Hmm... that's a tough one. I'm gonna list a few lol "Dad... Trust in me." "Kings of Lucis! Come to me!" "Walk tall, my friends." "What can I say? I'm worth the wait." (my inner NyxNoct heart SCREAMED) "Talk about backseat fishing..." "Hey! I got muscle... you just can't see it." ANYTIME he nerded out in the Assasin's Festival DLC Whenever he talked to the cat at Galdin The entire scene where he meets with Cor at the first Royal Tomb

7.) one way in which I relate to this character: I, too, get overwhelmed thinking about my responsibilities that are looming on the horizon and just want to go back to a hotel room with friends and vibe and play video games while traveling to new places IsThatTooMuchToAsk :')

8.) thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character: I don't know if I'd necessarily say it gives me second hand embarrassment, but it mostly just makes me snicker and go "omfg you little NERD" but probably his "Sharp erryday" line. This isn't necessarily my embarrassment either, but I LOVE in the ChocoMog Festival when he follows the Moogle dance all "Huh? Like this?" and then rubs the back of his neck all shy and goes "Can't believe I just did that." *clutches chest* I just lovehimsomuch ;u;

9.) cinnamon roll or problematic fave? CINNAMON ROLL. LOOKS LIKE ONE, IS ONE, BUT COULD ACTUALLY KILL YOU ALL IN ONE.

***Nyx***

1.) sexuality headcanon: Listen. This man is bi as hell 2.) otp: *bangs pots and pans together* NyxNoct NyxNoct NYXNOCT 3.) brotp: There's no way I CAN'T mention Libertus and Crowe! But also, I have a soft spot for some PelNyx! Both platonic and romantic. I just think there's a lot of mutual respect and trust between them and there's part of me that wants to explore it more sometimes! 4.) notp: Again, gonna keep to myself ^^; 5.) first headcanon that pops into my head: While Nyx was given the moniker of "Hero", his own personal Hero is his Mama. He has the highest, utmost respect and love for his mother and would drop EVERYTHING to help and give her whatever she needed. She raised him right and well even if he was a troublemaker at times. Nyx looks like his Papa, but gets all the charm from his Mama! 6.) favorite line from this character: Hoh there's a few, listing them all too - "I'm worth the wait!" (HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS ONE) "To hell with your power! I'm not here for it. I only came to tell you: You are no kings." "Rule well, young king." "Besides, didn't anyone tell you? I'm the Hero around here." "What, you got wings underneath that dress?" "Nifilheim took your home. Took all our homes! Nothing will ever change that." "Give Prince Noctis my regards." 7.) one way in which I relate to this character: I think, overall, probably his sense of loyalty and selflessness.

8.) thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character: HMMM, I got nothin' for this one friends ¯_(ツ)_/¯ unless maybe there was a time Nyx ripped his uniform pants because his butt was just Too Thicc. @ me all you want on that one, because it could very easily be canon if you ask me!

9.) cinnamon roll or problematic fave? What constitutes a fave being problematic though, I'm genuinely curious lol. It's funny, because I think from the perspective of OTHER CHARACTERS in FFXV, they'd dub Nyx problematic fave in a heartbeat lmao. Me personally, though? The smug cool Hero dude who, at the end of the day, thinks his life is worthless? Your honor that is my battle hardened cinnamon roll, who, SURE, can at times be a smart-mouthed trouble-making asshole. I take no criticism on this, thank you. (also if you ask me, he looks like he can kill you and will actually kill you. but still my battle hardened cinnamon roll)

#asks

[lumity-rights]

I finished Butterfly Soup last night and got my friend hooked through screenshots XD

He’s now planning a fic where the four run away together and is just trying to find a good adult from pretty much any fandom set on a close enough earth to adopt them lol

OH MY GOD HELL YES

asjdkfkg he should do it that sounds iconic and the fandom is starving for content. pls feed us🙏

#actually the fandom is lowkey dead but ITS FINE #it’s just sleeping❤️ #i will stand here and bang some pots and pans together #WAKEY WAKEY BITCHES #ITS BUTTERFLY SOUP HOURS #anyway yeet!! hope you enjoyed it haha #my asks #nach0

[hotwings0203]

Dead best husband dabi expects his wife to come home make him dinner and fuck his cock then spends the money she makes on beer

Tw:dubcon, misogyny, food play

It’s a tedious routine, almost like dreadful clockwork. You come home from your 9-5, take off your shoes, throw your keys on the counter, and not even before you make it into the kitchen is when his requests come out.

No, you say requests to keep yourself sane, but they’re actually thinly veiled commands.

“Where’s dinner? I’ve been waiting all day.”

“God, you look like a slut. Were they having an orgy at your work or somethin’? Is that what you were so busy doing all day? No wonder this place is a mess. Clean this shit up.”

“Hurry up, the lights broken. And you smell like shit, go wash-no, after you change the bulb.”

You have to look at your wedding photos frequently to remind yourself that he’s your husband, not some lowlife you picked up.

Except, every time you look at the pictures to evade his harsh insults and biting directions, it feels like the Dabi in your memorabilia sneers more and more rather than smiles.

It’s his permanent look, in fact, you’ve forgotten how it felt to feel a warmth in your heart when he smiled demurely at you. It’s hard to remember how his soft touch across your cheeks felt rather than the usual slap delivered to the sore skin.

When you walk in, he’s sprawled on the couch, a t.v remote in one hand and a beer in the other. He’s wearing a wife beater and shorts, absentmindedly scratching his balls when you utter a small “Hey hun.”

“Don’t you ‘hey hun’ me. Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes and immediately make your way to the kitchen, with him leaping up from the couch and tailing behind you.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me, what, you ignoring me now?”

He grabs the back of your neck and slams you face-first into the fridge, preventing you from opening the door.

“Ow! No, I was just looking for a snack-“

“-shut up. You don’t get to eat until I do, you cow. Or are you forgetting how this marriage works?”

He crushes your neck and leans forward to take a whiff of your hair.

“God, is that cologne? You cheating on me now?”

“No Dabi, we had a company lunch and I was just talking to some friends. Maybe that’s what you’re smelling.”

He lets go of you and throws you towards the sink. “Good. You better not be. If I find out some douchebag’s been putting his hands all over you I’ll slit his balls and make you eat em’.”

You grimace and wordlessly start putting pots and pans together, ignoring the rumble in your stomach. You didn’t even get a chance to take your suit off, but you don’t dare exit the kitchen until he’s had his fill yet.

He’s just hangry. That’s all there is to it.

Your husband scratches his stomach and ambles back to the living room, belching obnoxiously and running his hands through his unruly hair.

Hours go by as you slave over the stove, making his favorite desserts and dishes as your fingers begun to progressively cramp, your legs begin to burn as you stand and finish up. With him in the living room it’s easy to taste your own food and get some meager meal in between breaks, but you stop yourself from gorging without him.

Knowing Dabi, he’d measure how many cups of food you started cooking with and subtract it from how much remained now.

Even though it was your money that bought this food.

You’re at the sink a while later cleaning spoons when he strolls in again, crossing his arms and leaning against the entrance of the kitchen. He watches you for a couple minutes, sighing and humming to yourself as you scrub vigorously.

He doesn’t take in the copious amount of dishes you made, he doesn’t compliment how spotless the place looks despite all the cooking that went down here, no. Dabi stares at the way your ass wiggles while you work, the way your body bends attractively over the running sink, your tits brushing against the countertop.

You yelp and drop a small plate when you feel hands encompass your waist. His body is pressed tightly against yours, his hips lightly humping you like an eager virgin does. The force of his weight against you pushed you forward and you have to quickly grab onto the sink spout to avoid falling face first into soggy sink food.

“Dinners almost done Dabi, I’ll be out with it in a bit.”

“Mmmh, I’m not interested in eating that kind of food right now.”

He rests his head on top of yours and you barely refrain from screaming. What the hell did that mean? Wasn’t he the one harping on you earlier for not cooking fast enough?

“God, you look like a perfect slutty housewife right now. ‘M gonna fuck you.” He mutters as he begins yanking your trousers off while bending you further on the sink.

Your hands brace on the wet banister as you let him take what he wants. Last time you refused, he shoved one of his beer bottle necks into your pussy and made you ride on it.

“Dabi-Dabi, the food.” You try to tell him to move the dishes being pushed around from him manhandling you up on the counter but he doesn’t listen.

One plate goes crashing onto the floor, your Alfredo sauce mixed with porcelain bits.

“Oops,” he says not so regretfully. When your panties are successfully ripped down, he lifts your waist and lugs you onto the countertop, your upper half plastered on the cool marble.

His patched hands snake their way up your shirt and push the fabric up along with your bra while his now naked hips start pushing against your bare cunt.

Your exposed tits are squished down and you hiss as your body envelopes the cold counter. You try to lift your head up but he pushes you head back down.

“Uh-uh, no moving ‘till I’m finished. This is what you get for dropping food on the ground. In fact-“

His eyes catch a hold of the mini cakes you whipped up, and a sly grin on his face erupts as he looks from them to your quivering hole.

“Why don’t you have a taste of it? One down, a couple more plates to go!” You cry out in frustration as his hand swipes across the bar and sends the cake dish flying onto the floor.

He pays no heed to the defeating crash, just merely inspects his fingers that got some whipped cream on them while he smack the plate.

“A chef’s gotta taste her own cooking right? This cunt definitely looks hungry and oh so greedy right now too,” he pouts mockingly and traces his cream-covered fingers around your labia, roughly circling your clit and mixing the sweet food into the crevices of your pussy.

“P-please Dabi, don’t. We can do this after dinner, I’m so tired right now! I have to clean up this mess too!”

But no amount of pleading satiates the sadistic bastard. He just yanks your head back and shoves his fingers in your mouth when you open it in pain.

“Suck on ‘em real good, just like how you suck off your bosses. That’s how you get all this fuckin’ money right? You show a little ass, flash some tits, suck some old geezers off-and boom! You’ve got a nice house, and nice husband.” He leers at you as you choke on his slender digits.

Only when you feel like you’re about to vomit is when he yanks his hand out and wipes up another stray glob of frosting from the side of a testing plate. He doesn’t waste any time in working his fingers back inside you, a different hole this time however.

It feels so wrong with a massive creamy glob being pushed along your walls along with expert fingers that know your body inside out, but no matter how disgusting it is, he still finds your spongy area and begins stroking. The smooth filling glides up and down your g-spot as the pads of his fingers batter your sloppy pussy, and in no time you begin moaning.

“Oh Dabi, oh Dabi, fuck, please,-“

“Oh Dabi, oh Dabi,” he mocks cruelly, pinching your clit and squeezing your squished nipples as he pulls his fingers out right at the tip of your climax.

You try to turn around and plead for release but he doesn’t let you. Without missing a beat he takes his bricked up cock in hand and taps it on your ass before gliding in your weeping, cream covered pussy.

The moan you let out is so lewd that even a pornstar would be proud. You hate him, hate this marriage, hate the way he orders you around and looks down on you regardless of how you shower him with love and money.

But holy fuck, when his mushroom tip bangs against your womb like that and drags up and down your sensitive cavern you forget all the abuse.

Back and forth, up and down, sideways and forwards is the way you feel fucked. For someone who just sits on the couch all day you wonder how someone with such frame could fuck like a stallion, barely missing a beat.

“Hah, haaa fuck, you little whore, yeah, bring that ass back on Daddy, show him what you show those creepy fucks at work.” He pants and strikes your ass as you ricochet off his pelvis, his balls slapping your sticky labia.

You whine and try to wriggle out of his intrusion when he sneers the insult, but he merely cages you in between his arms and hunches over your bare body, pumping into you faster than before.

Your open jaw clacks as your tongue drops out in pleasure, his animalistic grunts and curses going straight into your ear and sending you over the edge.

He cums before you, groaning and dropping his dead weight over your suffocated body, not bothering to aid in your pathetic rubbing against his deflating dick.

“A little bit more, please Dabi? I’m so close honey-“

His fingers twitch next to you as he regains himself, exhaling through puffed up cheeks and yawning widely.

“Shut up. You don’t deserve to get off after the mess you made here.”

He peels his sweat-soaked body off of yours and tucks himself back into his pants, regarding the mess on the floor.

All your hard work, gone within a few minutes of ruthless fucking. Which you didn’t even get off to.

He fishes out a crumpled $10 from his musty shorts and throws it at your face like a cheap hooker would take.

“Here. Buy some Plan B and get me some beer. And you better not leave before serving me some fucking food, useless bitch.”

#scummy dabi #bnha #mha #dabi smut #mha smut #bnha smut #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi #dabi imagine #dabi oneshot #scumbag dabi #tw:dubcon #tw:misogyny

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jeff buckley lyrics my beloved

[softcrescendo]

stray kids | cooking with you!

"meals with you have always tasted the best, and i know it'll continue to be the best, as long as you stay by my side and maybe... keep on sharing them with me?"

pairing : ot8 x gn!reader

tw : mentions of food and light illness

genre : established relationship, fluff

a/n : the new skz-player has got me feelin' some type of way 😳😳 but i mean, skz always does this anyway so what's new

⤞ BANG CHAN whisks a few eggs together as the chopped meat sizzle on the pan, your hands carefully flipping them every now and then. He gives you a small smile whenever he glances at you, secretly thanking you because you chose to stay, after all. He sets it aside to prepare two bowls of rice, making his way to the other side of the kitchen. When he feels your gaze on his back, he turns around and asks "Would you like an extra bowl for today?" You lower the heat on the pan before smiling, too, because it feels too much like home right here. "Sure. Why not?"

⤞ I.N tries not to make a sound as he sneaks up on you with cheese in his hands, but he fails miserably, so he decides to stop right beside you. When he does so, you turn to place a kiss on his cheeks, but he turns to you too, so now the kiss goes on the corner of his lip instead. Both your eyes and his slightly widen, and not a moment too fast or slow, laughter bursts from the both of you. "That's no fair!" he exclaims, bringing you to his arms, right where you fit so perfectly. The ramen nearly falls then, but that's okay.

⤞ LEE KNOW silently puts all of the ingredients on the counter so the both of you can work with more ease. He looks over to you as you watch the water boil. "Is it ready?" he asks, to which you give him a nod 'yes'. As he brings over the pasta to you, he swiftly places a small kiss on your head. The simple gesture never gets old, like the same old spaghetti recipe you keep on using. Love with him feels just like that. Familiar, safe, and sometimes a bit cheesy. He sees a faint blush on your cheeks and chuckles, "Focus, love, it'll get soggy."

⤞ CHANGBIN frowns when he sees you walking into the kitchen in his hoodie, face a bit red and swollen. There's a small exchange of "I thought you're sick." "I'm okay now." "You should go back to bed." "No." before you're already mincing away next to him. When you insist that you are truly fine, he lets you stay by his side. Slowly, you put all of the last ingredients inside the pot as he stirs. His warm hands never leave your back as you both prepare dinner, and you know there's a silent promise that you'll always take care of each other, no matter what.

⤞ HYUNJIN wraps his arms around you, just to feel your warmth on this particularly cold night. When he realizes you're preparing a meal for him, too, he smiles at you as brightly as he always does. "Do you need some help?" he asks, letting his grip loosen, but not without a small peck on your ear. "Sure." you smile, letting him take over. He yelps when he feels an oil spark on his hand, turning to you with his puppy eyes. Before he knows it, he already feels your hands guiding his, and in moments like these, he knows he'll always be safe and warm with you.

⤞ HAN doesn't stop laughing when you smear flour all over your cheeks, yet again. You're laughing too, because he doesn't realize he's also covered in it. "Why are you laughing?" he asks between his chortles, and you immediately shake your head, "Because you're cute." His hands move to cup your cheeks, eyes twinkling and full of love. "Oh I see how it is." he says. You feel his nose brush against yours, and giggles fill the air once again. Love feels so easy, so right when it's with him, and as the pie bakes, he doesn't let you go. In this life, he'd never.

⤞ FELIX grabs the pan a little too quickly when he sees it wobble under his grip. But before he can let out a sigh of relief, his ears catch the sound of egg shattering. He turns around to see you standing right where the floor egg is, expressionless. His eyes sparkle when he laughs, "You okay there?" "No, I'm disappointed." you answer half-jokingly. His bubbly laugh erupts again, and you can feel warmth spread on your chest, "Come on, I'll make you extra dessert." "Cookies?" He gives you the tender smile he reserves only for you, "Anything, love."

⤞ SEUNGMIN had wanted to surprise you with a lunchbox today, but you accidentally caught him, so now you're making a lunchbox for him, too. There's mostly silence as you both work, besides his melodious hums every now and then. It feels the most comfortable this way, because love with him feels no different. You manage to sneak a few pecks on him, and he manages to brush his fingers against yours every chance he gets. When you both finish, he doesn't stop smiling, and neither do you. "Let's make each other lunchboxes again soon."

#I LOVE THEM AND THAT'S OKAY #stray kids #bang chan #minho #lee know #changbin #seo changbin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #han #felix #lee felix #seungmin #kim seungmin #i.n #jeongin #yang jeongin #stray kids headcanons #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #i.n x reader

[tpnimagines]

Hello! I noticed your requests were open, and if it’s not to much to ask could you maybe do HCs of the main trio with a musician S/O. Thank you in advance!

Okay but this sounds like an adorable idea, so here we go!

(Part Canon + Modern!AU) - Spoilers for manga

~-~-~

-Ray-

   (Canon) - Takes place in the Paradise Hideout

   + Ray noticed his s/o would hang around Nat when they weren’t with him. Ray didn’t mind all that much    + But one day he passed by Nat and his s/o sitting together playing the piano together, which to him was one of the cutest things he has ever seen in his life    + From then on he saw his s/o fiddling around with anything around them that could make some sort of note, and even if it was something like a potato they could figure out how to make a melody...    + “Hey, what are you doing..?”     + ^ he spotted his s/o craving holes out of a potato    + “Norman showed me this book about making instruments out of vegetables... Listen.”    + they blew out a little toot from the potato -> “Isn’t that cool?”     + “..and what happened then? Well, in Paradise they say that Ray’s small heart grew three sizes that day.”    + Ray found his s/o extremely talented, and he too learned how to play a potato with them    + bonus:��https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXfnrEguhxA 

   (Modern!AU)

   +  Despite being his s/o, Ray spent little time with them... Why? Cause they were always in their little music room tooting away at their 12 instruments     + That’s right, his s/o played t w e l v e  i n s t r u m e n t s    + Twelve... FUCKING TWELVE     + Every time he would come back to their shared apartment he would find them violently banging on a drumset or strumming on a broken ukulele    + Ray found it a little noisy, but he knew it made his s/o happy so he let them do what they wanted    + Ray joined in occasionally, but unlike his s/o he only played the mandolin (his mom gave him one when he was little)    + He encouraged his s/o to compete in musical competitions or play in a band, but he admired their dedication to music regardless of what they chose to do    + His s/o did make one suggestion, a hard rock band     + ^ ... Ray denied that idea

-Norman-

   (Canon) - Takes place in the Paradise Hideout

   + Norman was a quiet guy, he wasn’t the biggest fan of loud noises     + ... so it is pretty funny to see him walking around with his s/o who was strumming a guitar while yelling: “I LOVE YOU BITCH. I AIN’T EVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU BITCH!”     + The Minerva was cooped up in his office often, and despite his wanting to be alone for the most part, his s/o played the giant piano in his office    + Norman found it relaxing, and made it easy for him to work when he was stressed (so his s/o is always in his office... no questions asked)     + When he had free time, his s/o would try to teach him how to play something    + ^ Norman struggled a good bit, but his s/o was very supportive and when he was able to play Hot Cross Buns on the violin he got many hugs from his proud s/o    + Norman will always love his s/o’s music, when they get out into the real world the first thing he is going to do is help his s/o get into a musical career :)    + plus, he really wants to improve with the violin so he can play his s/o music when they are stressed

   (Modern!AU)

   + Similar to if they were in the Demon world, but instead his s/o is already in a musical career and Norman opted to be their manager of sorts    + While his s/o makes the music, Norman helps them to decide best how to distribute    + While he is somewhat sad that he cannot help his s/o make any actual music, he is happy he can help his s/o in what they are passionate about    + He dreams of a day when he and his s/o can stand on a stage and play a duet together, he thinks that would also be the perfect time to propose... But that is a thought for another day, they’re quite young after all...

-Emma-

   (Canon) - Takes place in the Paradise Hideout + after the canon ending

   + Oh my gosh music?!?! Emma is a sucker for entertainment so when she found out her s/o was into music she was happy to help craft a few makeshift instruments    + She too went with the whole potato and carrot flute idea, and so the two would spend hours running around Paradise and tooting their flutes for the others to hear    + When Emma walked in on their s/o playing a beautiful melody, she encouraged them to practice more and create a career out of it once they escape    + After they all escape, and they finally find Emma, her s/o constantly sticks around with her and plays her music    + One time they even showed her how to make a potato flute, and shed a few tears towards the end when Emma expressed joy in the small vegetable     + Emma never remembered anything before their escape, but she did start to love her s/o all over again    + Together they continued to run around and play vegetable instruments, just like the old days 

   (Modern!AU)

   + Emma had a bit of musical talent herself, she loved to rhythmically bang on pots and pans as she was cooking    + Her s/o gifted her with a kazoo on one of her birthdays, in return Emma gifted them an ELECTRIC GUITAR     + oho, how her s/o loved that guitar, they constantly praticed it and wrote songs, etc etc    + Emma ended up getting a drumset and shared the idea of forming a band with her s/o    +  and thus, the two formed a cute smol band    + her s/o played her a song they had wrote for her birthday once :)     + pure bb energy 

#the promised neverland #the promised neverland manga #emma tpn #ray tpn #norman tpn #tpn norman x reader #tpn emma x reader #tpn ray x reader #the promised neverland imagines #imagines #x reader #oneshot

[actress4him]

Black, Yellow, Blue, Green, Orange, Pink... Red

Part 13.

9/23/23 Check out the artwork by @probablyhuntersmom !

First | Previous | Next

Warnings: panic, referenced brainwashing, conditioned whumpee

.

.

It’s unusual to see Keith by himself. If he’s out of his room, which isn’t super often, then Shiro is usually hovering somewhere nearby. And if not, then it’s Pidge, sitting an arm’s length away with her laptop or some doodad she’s tinkering with.

Today, though, Hunk walks into the kitchen to find just Keith, sitting on one of the stools with his back to the door. He’s hunched over with his arms wrapped around his middle, and he doesn’t appear to have noticed Hunk’s entrance. The Yellow Paladin almost makes some kind of quiet noise to announce himself, not wanting to startle the poor guy - which, believe him, is super easy these days - but he’s stopped by hoarse whispers coming from Keith himself.

“I am a weapon,” is the first thing he’s able to discern. “My job is to obey. I must not fail.”

Already Hunk is concerned, a frown creasing his features as he takes a step in closer. Whatever this is almost sounds like he’s quoting something, and it doesn’t sound like it’s good for his fragile state of mind. As he listens, Keith takes a deep breath and seems to start over.

“I am not a Blade. I am not a Paladin. I am not a person. I am nothing. I am worthless. I belong to the Paladins. I am a weapon. My job is to obey. I must not fail.”

“Whoa!” Hunk completely forgets about the whole not scaring Keith thing, which he thinks is understandable considering what he just heard. Unfortunately, understandable doesn’t mean it's not scary. Keith jumps so hard he bangs something - probably his knees - loudly on the underside of the counter, practically falling off the stool and scrambling away to put the counter as a barrier between them. 

“Whoa,” Hunk repeats, softer this time. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me.” He raises his hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

Keith’s eyes are wild and he’s panting for breath, gripping the counter like a lifeline, but eventually, as Hunk continues to calmly stand there, he settles into just watching him warily. Meanwhile, Hunk is repeating what he remembers of what Keith had said over and over again in his head, becoming more concerned with each passing second but trying his best to keep his expression neutral. 

“So, uh...what were you sayin’ there, buddy?”

His eyes go a little wider, and he presses his lips together. “Mm...m-my...my words.”

“Your...words?”

Keith nods. “My words, that I...that I have to say. I have to remember.”

Hunk’s trying really hard not to frown, not wanting to look like he’s angry. Keith does not do well with thinking people are angry. “Who, uh...who told you you had to say those?”

Now his eyes kind of glaze over, and for a moment Hunk’s afraid he’s lost him to the past like what happens to Shiro sometimes. But then he seems to come back out of it and simply whispers, “Them.”

Okay. Okay, this is bad. It’s starting to make more sense to Hunk now, though, the whole Keith not remembering who he is and being trained to kill his former teammates. Shiro and Allura had been loath to tell them much of what they found out from the Sivis they interrogated, but this sounds like some form of brainwashing. 

He’s gotta keep calm, though. No matter how much his gut is churning at the sudden realization of what horrors Keith must have been through. He has to approach this in a calm manner.

He wishes Shiro was in here with him.

“Okay.” He nods, and slowly crosses into the kitchen on the opposite side of the counter. “You can sit back down, if you want. I’m just gonna start making dinner.”

Immediately Keith moves back to his stool, further solidifying the idea that’s been simmering in Hunk’s mind that he takes suggestions as orders. Trying to ignore that for now, he busies himself pulling various pots, pans, and cooking utensils out, though at this point his mind is far away from cooking and he can’t even recall what he was planning on making anymore.

“So, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But if you don’t mind, would you say it again? Your...your words? I’d like to hear them better.” No he wouldn’t, he really wouldn’t at all, he’d rather not hear them ever again. But he needs to know what they’re dealing with here.

Sitting up ramrod straight, Keith bores a hole into the counter with his eyes. “I am not a Blade. I am not a Paladin. I am not a person. I am nothing. I am worthless. I belong to the Paladins. I am a weapon. My job is to obey. I must not fail.”

It takes everything in Hunk not to interrupt before the droning speech is over. Keith continues staring down once he’s done, which is a good thing because the tenuous control Hunk had over his facial expressions is pretty much gone by now. 

“Okay. Okay.” He has no earthly idea how to fix this. Chances are Keith won’t take an outright rebuttal any better than he’s taken any of the other’s attempts at encouraging him to behave normally. “I understand...why they told you to say that. But, you see...you don’t have to say that anymore. You’re here now, with us, and...you don’t need those words anymore.”

Keith’s eyes flash up to his, and instead of being filled with anything like relief, like he had kinda hoped, there’s just more fear. “I...I tried to change it so that it still worked for here, but I know it’s not perfect. I-if you’d just...I mean, if someone...if I knew what my job was and what you wanted from me then I could make it better.”

That was not the response Hunk was going for at all. “No, that’s not what I meant, I...you don’t…” He sighs heavily. He really should have gone to Shiro about this. “It’s not because you changed them, it’s just that...those aren’t true. Anymore.”

Suddenly Keith’s face lights up. “Can you give me new words?” Before Hunk can respond, he’s out of his seat, rounding the counter and dropping to his knees, much to Hunk’s horror. “Please. I need them. I can’t...I don’t know what I am anymore, or what I’m supposed to be doing. I need to know.”

Hunk’s first response is to balk. No, he’s not going to give him a new mantra to chant. He’d just be brainwashing him in the other direction! Keith doesn’t need more words, he just needs to stop.

But he stops and looks at the expression of hope mixed with despair on his face - this boy who has been through heaven knows what and has just now made himself completely vulnerable in a way that he never would have done before all of this - and he reconsiders.

“Okay. You know what? Sure. I will.”

Instead of trying to convince him to stand, Hunk joins Keith on the kitchen floor, criss-cross applesauce. Drawing in a deep breath, he lets himself dwell on the former mantra one more time before starting to speak. 

“My name is Keith Kogane.”

“No one owns me.”

“I am a person.”

“I am a brother.”

“I am a friend.” 

“I am good.”

“I am smart.” 

“I am an awesome pilot.” 

He pauses, having to think hard before adding on the last one. “My job is to rest and heal until I believe this again.”

Fully attentive, Keith repeats each line promptly and precisely, flinching a little each time Hunk starts to talk again as if he expects something different. Hunk doesn’t want to think about what that might mean. Instead he smiles and praises Keith for doing well, ignores the knot in his stomach when that seems to completely bewilder him, and goes through the phrases again to solidify them in both their minds.

“We’ll keep working on those together. It’s okay if you don’t remember them all right away, it’s a lot.” 

Feeling a little better about the whole situation, Hunk rises and goes to the Altean version of a refrigerator, opening it up to see a bowl of ‘chicken’ strips and a bottle of blue ‘ketchup’. He’d been avoiding them for a while now, getting flashes of pain and blood every time he thought about cooking them. But now he picks them both up, weighing them in his hands, and smiles. 

“So Keith, want to help me make chicken strips for dinner? Maybe we can even figure out how to make fries with them.”

#voltron #voltron: legendary defender #voltron whump #keith whump #hurt keith #panic tw #brainwashing tw #conditioning tw #conditioned whumpee #keith #keith kogane #voltron keith #vld keith #vld #voltron hunk #voltron fic #voltron fanfiction #voltron fanfic #vld fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #whump #whump writing

[mypimpademia]

Bakugo, Todoroki, Shinso, and Midoriya w an s/o that does the "ignoring bf for 24 hours challenge"

Bakugo x Todoroki x reader x Shinso x Midoriya

TW: Swearing, kinda suggestive? Only for Bakugo and Shinso

BAKUGO

He puts it on everything that he doesn't care

Lyin ass

First he tried kissing you good morning and you moved your head away

He just looked at you for a full minute and then went in for another one

You curved him again and he didn't even do anything about it

"Be like that then, see if I care."

He ignored you back for the first like hour then he needed to talk to you because he couldn't take it

Still getting ignored, he decided that if you weren't gonna talk he'd just leave the house

"Hey brat, I'm going to get food."

You didn't say anything but you cant resist food, so you got dressed and followed him out

"What do you wanna eat?"

No answer

"Guess you're not fuckin hungry then."

He pulled up to a Wendy's and ordered his food

You texted him your answer

And he decided that he'd be petty

Looked at the text, looked at you,

"Will there be anything else?"

"No, thanks."

Out here starving you because you won't talk to him

I know he secretly loves physical affection since he likes showing things through action

So he tried kissing you like 10 more times and when you turned your head, thats when he got fed up

You're watching tv in your living room, he stands in front of you

before you can even move your head so you can keep watching your show, he throws you over his shoulder

"You wanna ignore me right? Keep that energy."

Good luck

TODOROKI

You woke up before him for once so you decided to start right then

You somehow got his arm off you despite his bear grip

And just laid there

He was already distressed by the fact that you weren't next to him when he woke up

Hugs you when he sees you with your back to him

Confused when you dont do anything

Even more confused when you dodge his kiss

Followed you around for 2 hours straight like a lost puppy

Went over to Tokoyamis to ask what he should do

He wasn't much help, mostly because he said to just apologize if Todoroki had done something to upset you

It just made him more concerned

Because he had nothing to apologize for, so were you just tired of him??

Texted Momo (who you already told) and she just told him not to worry about it

Somehow it calmed him down because he trusted her

But then the poor bby got touch starved

So when he saw you minding your business and laying down on your shared bed

He jumped on you and hugged you and just wouldn't let you go

"Sho, let me go."

"No."

"It was just a challenge, its okay. I can't fucking breathe."

He at least let you breathe, but he kept his position

"Dont do that again."

Yall were basically attached at the hip for the rest of the day and the next

SHINSO

He already knew about the challenge

And he realized that you were doing it when you didn't say anything after he asked what you wanted for breakfast

Shinso was a little shit about it

Tried to be as annoying as possible

He sees you laying down?

Hes gonna lay on top of you

And if you're laying down with your phone he'll put it out of reach and just talk about random shit

Sees you going to grab something?

He's gonna get to it first and not give it to you

Quick kisses if he can manage to steal them

He won't starve you like Bakugo

He'll get both of you food, then smack loud as shit because you won't say anything

Even went as far as getting into the shower right when you got in so you'd have to go through the whole time with him

Also came in while you were watching your favorite show while banging pots and pans and blocking your view

Started getting annoyed at some point

So he decided to jump on top of you like Todoroki did but instead he kissed the shit out of you

"You gonna stop ignoring me now?"

"Yes-"

He used his quirk in you and made you do whatever you wanted for the rest of the day

MIDORIYA

"Good morning, beautiful."

Tried to kiss you and you denied without a word

He was so sad

Like Todoroki, he followed you around for a few hours

Then went over to Iidas because he needed someone to talk to

He thought he did something wrong so the whole time he was just babbling and going over everything he did in the past month that mightve upset you

Brought home goldfish shaped buns for dinner

You guys sat a the table together

You were casually eating while staring at your plate

And poor Izuku is staring at you on the verge of tears while taking the smallest bites

It was so sad to watch

Starts crying for real when he tries to hold your hand and you pull away

"Im sorry baby, I don't know what I did to upset you but im so, so, sorry."

You threw the whole challenge and started crying with him

You gave him the biggest hug and kisses all over

He picked you up and held you in koala position while doing all type of things

And the only time he'd let go is if one of you needed to use the bathroom

He was so soft the day after

Like he kept saying that he loved you every 30 minutes

Always hugging you

He just really loves you I don't know how else to say it

#bakugo headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha hcs #bnha headcanons #katsuki bakugo headcanons #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha #bakugo fluff #hitoshi shinso x reader #bnha shinso x reader #shinsou imagine #my hero academia shinsou #shinsou headcanons #bnha shinso hitoshi #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha todoroki #shoto x reader #shoto torodoki #mha midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoria x reader #midoriya izuku #midoriya fluff #todoroki fluff #shinso fluff

[rolandtowen]

three times Zuko comes into the Jasmine Dragon coffee shop, and one time Sokka leaves with him. Set in the Neurodiverse Zukka AU, but can read as a standalone.

*banging pots and pans together* "Come over here and get yall Neurodiverse Zukka!"

Read it on Ao3 or under the cut!

TW: discussions of skin picking and implied child abuse

i.

When Sokka pulls into the parking lot of the Jasmine Dragon, he is unsurprisingly the first car there. Being a freshman in town means getting the worst pick of shifts at local businesses. Sokka was hired on to work the opening shift, which means he wakes up at the ungodly hour of 5am to open the shop before the first round of sleep-deprived college students comes in. The pay isn't bad, Mr. Iroh is an incredibly fair man,

The bell on the door jingles on his way in, and he flips several light switches on, watching as the coffee shop slowly comes to life. He busies himself with getting the beans for the day grinding, pulling his first shot and dialing in the expresso. When he takes a sip, the espresso is spot on for the day, which is a relief. Having to make adjustments as customers start filing in is a nightmare.

Today's brew is floral and citrusy, so he decides to make himself and iced lavender latte - with oat milk, of course, because he's gotta do it for the gays - and he spends the next 20 minutes setting out pastries and fiddling with the display cases, making everything look perfect.

At 6am sharp, Sokka unlocks the front door and flips their sign to open, before retreating behind the bar to nurse his latte. Not even five minutes later, the door bell jingles, and Sokka sees a flash of dark hair, face obscured by a pile of textbooks and binders. The figure runs into one table, and then another, and Sokka is rushing out from behind the counter. He gets there just before textbooks go toppling everywhere, his hands taking a firm hold of the top bundle. As he pulls the books into his arms, he sees the face behind them.

Breathtaking golden eyes.

And.. a massive burn scar.

"Hi!" Sokka says, "I'm the barista on shift today - my name's Sokka." He would reach his hand for the other man to shake, but for the stack of textbooks in them.

Golden Eyes smiles.

"I'm Zuko, Zuko Sozin," he says, setting his remaining textbooks on the table by his side. Sokka follows suit.

"Hey, I think I've seen you before - are you taking Piandao's Intro to Biology class?"

"Uh, yeah - yeah! You sit a few rows in front of me." Zuko laughs. "Your doodles are uh, something alright."

Sokka knocks him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "I gotta keep my hands busy for my brain to focus." He looks down at the stack of books on the table. "What on earth are you studying, to have that many books?"

"Uh, Biology and Chemistry double-major, Pre-Med track." Sokka's eyes widen. "It's really not that much! I got a bunch of stuff out of the way with AP credits."

Sokka raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, it is a lot - but I'm really passionate about it. I want to be a doctor."

"Well, Dr. Sozin, what can I get started for you today?"

"Can I get a iced matcha, with a lot of honey?"

Sokka raises his other eyebrow. "A doctor with a sweet tooth?"

"Kind of?"

"Don't worry, I won't rat you out to your dentist. An iced matcha with extra honey?" Zuko nods and Sokka smiles. "You got it, doc."

ii.

Sokka falls into a routine at the Jasmine Dragon. He opens the shop every morning, and every morning of the fall semester so far, Zuko Sozin comes in at precisely 6:05am. Zuko will order an iced matcha with honey, and sits at a table by the window with his laptop and at least two textbooks open at all times. Then, at 11:50am - Sokka guess he has a class that starts at noon - Zuko leaves the shop, always making sure to throw his spare change into Sokka's tip jar.

He's so beautiful.

On a slow day, Sokka comes out from behind the safety of the counter and works up the courage to ask Zuko if he can study with him. Zuko looks shocked at first, but his lips quirk up in a smile as he gestures for Sokka to sit in the chair across from him, moving his textbooks to make room for Sokka's one book and laptop.

"What are you studying, Sokka?" Zuko appears to be genuinely interested.

"Oh, uh, social work, with a concentration in mental health." Sokka waits for Zuko to laugh at him. It never comes. He looks up at him over their laptops.

"That's really cool."

"You think so?"

"Yeah! I mean, some pre-med majors can be really pretentious, really dismissive of mental illness, but um - not me. I don't really have that luxury." Zuko laughs, as though at a joke with himself. "What's the Intro to Biology for, then?"

"Not all of us got our common core out of the way with AP credits, like some nerd I know." Zuko smiles at that, and looks back down at his laptop screen.

Sokka pulls his keys from his pocket and starts fidgeting with the stim toy he keeps on his keychain as he reads through his latest assignment for his Mental Illness and Society class. He bought it on Etsy, relieved to find a neurodivergent-owned shop after scrolling through a lot of stores that just seemed to be hopping on the 'trend' of selling fidget toys. He flips to the next page in his textbook, popping the buttons back and forth in a steady rhythm. He remembers Zuko's sitting across from him and stops abruptly.

"Is this annoying? Do you want me to stop?"

Zuko just cocks his head. "Why would I get a say in what you do? It's kind of your shop, right?"

"Um, to be polite?" Sokka laughs. "And you would be surprised how many customers I get who think they get to tell me what to do." His eyes settle on the half drunk latte in front of him. "It's not really my shop either, I just work the early morning shifts so Mr. Iroh can sleep in. If you ever get to stay past noon sometime, you'll see him come in. You can't miss him, short guy, talks in riddles. He's older, a war vet I think - I just get that impression from some of the stories he tells me. But anyway, did you want me to stop fidgeting?" Sokka looks back up to meet those golden eyes.

Zuko glitches for a second. "Oh! No, no, go for it - if it helps you to study, I'm all for it."

Sokka smiles, and looking at the way Zuko keeps picking at his cuticles gives him an idea. He digs into his backpack and pulls out another stim toy, an acupressure ring. ""Do you want to try this instead of maiming your hands?"

Zuko hesitantly holds out a hand and Sokka drops it into his palm. "You don't have to."

Sokka scoffs. "I know I don't have to - I want to. Come on, I wear it on my thumb sometimes -" and suddenly he's taking Zuko's hands into his and getting very close to Zuko's face. Zuko can smell espresso on his clothes and Sokka's hands are so warm against his. Calloused, sure, but warm. He holds Zuko's right hand gently, pressing the spiky ring onto his thumb. "And you can rub it back and forth with your pointer finger and it gives you that kind of prickly sensation that you get from skin picking, just without the skin picking." Sokka pulls his hands away and Zuko immediately misses them. "Give it a shot, tell me what you think."

Zuko tentatively rolls the ring over his thumb. Huh. The cute barista's right, the acupressure gives him that same prickly, scratchy feeling that picking at his nails and cuticles does. "Wow," he says, "I think you've converted me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then keep it, I've got a thousand more where that came from, ADHD perks."

Zuko instinctively opens his mouth to protest but the words die in his throat.

"You, you have ADHD?" He stops rolling the ring across his thumb.

"Yup." Sokka's lips popped on the 'p', and he turned to the next page in his textbook. "And I'm pretty sure you've got some spicy stuff happening your brain, too. But you don't have to tell me."

"How are you so open about it?"

Sokka's hand stills around the fidget. "My parents never treated me like I was deficient in any way - my brain just works differently, which means I have trouble with some 'normal' stuff. But I also strengths in areas that others don't have naturally. Accommodations aren't anything to be ashamed of."

"Sounds nice." All of the levity drops out of Zuko's voice.

Sokka levels a look at Zuko. He lets his eyes flit to the right side of Zuko's face and the scar there. He's seen it so many times, and the burns look so concentrated, almost... intentional. His stomach churns at the thought. The scar's old... and Zuko's at college now, he has to be safe - he has to be.

"Like I said, you don't have to tell me." Sokka's hand starts to fidget with the buttons again. "But I have it on good authority that I am a good listener."

"I'll... I'll keep that in mind." Zuko looks down at his hands, fingers rolling the ring back and forth against his thumb. "Thank you."

"Anytime, doc."

iii.

Somehow, fumbling through their collective social awkwardness, they manage to swap numbers.

At the end of the fall semester, Sokka texts Zuko for the first time.

S: hey, im gonna be a few minutes later. don't worry, im still coming.

Z: okay. thank you.

When Sokka finally pulls into the parking lot fifteen minutes late, he sees Zuko waiting outside the door, sitting on a bench, head buried in one of his chemistry textbooks.

"Hey," he puts his keys in the door. "You can just come in while I open, it won't take too long."

Zuko follows him inside, and he closes the door against the chill.

"You didn't have to text me," Zuko says, like it's a question.

"I wanted to," Sokka starts flipping on light switches. "I know you've got your routine, and I didn't want to stress you out when it got messed up."

"Why would that matter to you?"

"Um, I don't want you to be stressed? I kind of care about you."

"You... you care about me?" Zuko stands in the middle of the coffee shop, unmoving.

Sokka smiles. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Why?"

"I think we could be friends?"

"Oh." Zuko's face falls for a second - what Sokka has come to understand is his 'processing' face - and he looks back up a second later. "I think we could be friends too."

"Friendship with a barista has great perks, you know." Sokka laughs as he starts up the grinder. "Although the perks of a social worker friend aren't too bad either."

"How's that going? With your first semester ending?" Zuko sits on a stool at the bar and watches Sokka putter around behind it.

"Well, I'm going to pass Intro to Biology, not for lack of trying on Piandao's part - I swear he's trying to weed out all the humanities kids. It isn't even a weed out course!" He polishes an espresso glass furiously. "How are you doing?"

Zuko chokes. "Oh, I'm - I'm fine, you know it's a hard class and all -"

"You're getting an A, aren't you?" Sokka squints at him from behind a bag of coffee beans. "Curve breaker," he scoffs.

"Hey, it's not my fault that I'm, what did you call it? A 'burnt-out gifted kid with people pleasing tendencies'." Zuko crosses his arms and huffs at the memory of that conversation. Sokka had read him like a picture book. And it was not fair for one person to be that good at emotions.

"You are correct, I did indeed call you that." Sokka pulls the first shot of the morning. "And it looks like I was right."

"You know what you said the other week, about being a good listener?"

"Sure do," Sokka takes a sip of the espresso, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it out. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, if we're going to be... friends, I just think you'd want to know that - I'm autistic." Zuko stares at Sokka searching his face for any cues about what the next words out of his mouth will be, waiting for the facade of friendship to drop. He furiously rolls the acupressure ring up and down his thumb.

"Okay, that's great!"

"...what."

Zuko's hands freeze and he squeezes the ring against his skin, feeling the pressure increase.

"That's great, I'm glad you felt safe enough to tell me that. I kind of guessed your parents weren't as accommodating as mine?"

Zuko laughs something sour. "No, no they were not." He looks up in surprise as Sokka puts an iced matcha, extra honey, in front of him. "You're right though, I do feel safe here. I feel safe with you." Zuko looks down at the acupressure ring on his thumb, softening his grip. "You could have totally ignored me, but you didn't. Or you could've been mean about my quirks - but you weren't. Why?"

"Well, for starters, you tip well." Sokka smiles and leans across the counter, bracketing Zuko's elbows in with his own. "But you're also a really great guy - you're passionate, you want to make people's lives better, and you're also like, really beautiful."

Zuko feels his cheeks flush. "You really think that?" His fingers still against the fidget again, but he doesn't feel the need to press it into his skin. He's captivated by Sokka's words. Surely, Sokka couldn't actually mean -

"Oh, yeah. Every bit." Sokka brushes his hand against one of Zuko's, the one with the fidget ring. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yes, please, yes." After weeks, Sokka's hand is back in his, and Zuko thinks he's going to implode. "Can, can you hold both of my hands? With both of your hands?"

"Of course," Sokka's positively beaming, grabbing Zuko's hands and running his thumbs across his knuckles. "Now you're absolutely allowed to say no to my next question, and there are no hard feelings."

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Fuck yes."

The iced matcha is forgotten.

+ i

Sokka's feet hurt like hell. Mr. Iroh had called in him to work a double on Friday, and since he doesn't have any classes on Fridays, he foolishly agreed.

It won't seem so foolish once you see the paycheck, he reminds himself. He and Zuko have a deal. Zuko pays for his medical school with his job shelving books at the University library, and Sokka pays for their tiny apartment by caffeinating all of the other broke college kids in town. By some miracle, they seem to be able to make it work. Zuko graduated into the medical college a year early, which helps with tuition costs, and of course his brilliant boyfriend got all kinds of scholarships.

Sokka is indescribably proud of him.

The door bell jangles just as Sokka is wiping the crumbs off the last cafe table. "Hey, we're starting to close up for the night, so it'd better be a to-go order," he calls over his shoulder.

"Even for me?"

"Zuko!" Sokka drops his cloth immediately and spins around, pulling Zuko into a hug. Zuko taps the small of his back when he's ready to let go, and Sokka lets him go, beaming. "You came to visit me at work?"

"More like I picked up your favorite soup dumplings from Haru's across the street and thought we could walk home together?" Zuko shrugs, gesturing to the brown paper bag in his arms. "How's that sound to you?"

"Baby, that's just what I needed today." Sokka picks up his cleaning supplies. "Okay, I just need to put all of this away and then we can lock up and go home, how's that?"

"Great," Zuko smiles at him. "I may have also picked up some more Doctor Who DVDs from the library," he smirks.

"Oh, you trickster!" Sokka yells from the kitchen, before appearing again. "You used my one weakness, pork soup dumplings, against me in order to get your nerdy way."

"Oh, big talk coming from the guy who watches astronomy documentaries for fun," Zuko laughs as Sokka leads him out of the shop, switching off the lights and locking the door behind him. "If it were up to you, we'd be watching Cosmos all weekend, and I can only take so much of Neil deGrasse Tyson explaining the peculiarities of the moon."

"Hey, the moon is cool!"

"You are correct, the moon is very cool. It's freezing, because it's a rock. In space. With no atmosphere. Or life." Zuko deadpans, earning a light punch on the shoulder from Sokka.

"Fine, you get Doctor Who tonight, but Saturday is going to be all PBS Nova, baby. Brace yourself." Sokka takes Zuko's free hand into his as they start the walk home.

"Well, as long as you're there, I'm happy."

Notes:

fidgets in this work were inspired by those from shop StimBox

#neurodiverse au #neurodiverse zukka #neurodivergent zukka #autistic zuko #adhd sokka #coffee shop #modern au #college au #med school au #bisexual sokka #asexual zuko #gay zuko #zukka #first kiss #zuko is an awkward turtleduck #pre relationship #developing relationship #sokka is a nerd #zuko is also a nerd #touch starved zuko #stim toys #fidget toys #fluff #romantic fluff #how many tags can char fit on a post #rolandtowen #my fic #atla #avatar #the last airbender

[soyforramen]

Whoops, I slipped into a follow up of this prompt.

--

“How’s the wrist?”

Such an innocuous question. It rings flat in the sharp crags that line the chasm between them, echoing hollowly between them. But it’s still more than he’d said Saturday night. More than he thought he’d say.

Betty, never one to let any pain shine through, smiles at him. Her face morphs into that perfect Cooper mask, no crack or wrinkle to suggest anything was out of the ordinary. It pierces his soul to realize that he doesn’t know how to read her anymore.

To him, she looks just as happy and carefree as the first day they’d met in third grade.

“Still sore, but no lasting damage,” she says, rolling her wrist as proof. Even her voice is peppy and varnished to perfection. “How’s your head?”

His hand moves without thought to his forehead, his fingertips grazing the ugly red mess. Jughead jerks his head to the right, a move practiced in the mirror this morning to ensure his hair covered the welt.

“Nothing an aspirin can’t take care of,” he mutters.

He raises his coffee cup to his lips to keep from mentioning the whisky and rye he’d fallen headfirst into, a palliative cure after she’d disappeared up the stairs, leaving nothing but confusion and nadir in her wake. The lingering hangover was still a symphony of banging pots and pans along his temples, a never-ending reminder of his regret (relief?) of doing nothing.

They sip their coffee in silence, waiting for the meeting to begin. The artificial bridge he’d thrown across the chasm between them frays, its tethers loosening. In less than a minute, it’s fallen into the yawning black hole that now lies between them.

Betty's words… no. Not that. It was his inaction. His confusion. His uncertainty that created this false rift between them. The gravity of it tugging and pulling at every second between them, every atom, every conceivable future between them, each a warped, stretched snapshot of a future never to be.

It was enough to make him want to crawl back into the bottle and never come out again. His hand shakes, an aftereffect of the late night drinking, and he shoves it deep into his pocket. Betty’s eyebrows draw too close together, too close to concern for his tastes.

Toni claps her hands together, and Betty shoots him one last curious look. He refuses to look at her, turning to refill his mug. When he turns back around, Betty is in her usual seat next to Archie, a plastic smile on her face. Jughead slouches against the counter, too lost in his own morbid thoughts to pay much attention to the upcoming game to notice the increasingly concerned glances Betty sends his way.

Jughead watches as his students shuffle in, the twins he affectionately calls Bill and Ted the only two showing any trace of life. The bell rings, a clanging, offensive noise that makes everyone wince. It’s doubtful he’s the only one nursing a hangover.

“How many of you did the reading?” he asks when they settle in.

A collective groan ripples throughout the room. He can’t blame them; he’d never been able to finish The Odyssey in high school either.

“Pop quiz time,” he says.

Another groan, this time with a rousing argument against it, echoes through his already pounding head. Jughead holds his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“I want you to write about betrayal.”

The class quiets, some exchanging glances. It’s a sharp turn, a quick 180 that throws all off them off balance. Jughead has been ruthless so far, both in his grading and in his push to get them to learn critical thinking skills. Even he’s surprised at this course of action.

“Any kind of betrayal you can think of. You can talk about personal betrayal, family betrayal. Maybe one of your friends kissed your girlfriend, or maybe your mother chose your sister’s side over yours. Or maybe you write about a fictional betrayal. Hamlet and Ophelia, Brutus and Julius Caesar, Edward Pensieve and the Turkish delight.”

Wynnie’s hand shoots up, and Jughead inwardly winces. She’s always been the one to push back against any assignment, the one who questions everything he expects from them and makes class ten times longer.

“Can we write about a made up betrayal? With characters on, like, TV or something?”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he nods. “Anything is fair game, as long as you write it in a way that someone not familiar with the show, or book, or whatever, can understand what’s going on.”

“What about poetry?” another student asks.

“So long as you put the effort in, poetry is fine. Text threads, short stories, poems, letters, anything written.”

“Can we work together?” one of the twins asks.

“Sure, as long as you don’t bother the other students,” Jughead says with a shrug.

Bill and Ted high five before dragging their desks together.

Jughead is surprised at how well they’re taking this assignment. Every last thing has been a fight with them, from getting their attention to taking a test. Betrayal, though, seems to be something everyone can relate to.

As the class begins to write, Jughead sits down at his own desk. For a moment, he watches his students, kids in the same position he was once in, and wonders why he’s even here. Riverdale offered him little more than characters he could mold into his own, a setting for the decline of small town America.

Today, though, his mind wanders along words and phrases, glimpses into a different sort of reality. One ravaged by decay and rot, left to perish alone. And yet, he can’t help but see the small, green shoots of the future poke out of the ashes, tiny hints of hope for what’s to come. Perhaps nothing is ever static and unchanging. Perhaps things can turn around.

Jughead reaches into his bag for his own blank notebook.

He’s sitting on the porch that afternoon, struggling with the illegibly written translation. It’s a shame the state requires them to teach only the recommended books; Jughead would love to see how the story unfolds when thrown onto a fire.

“Hey.”

Jughead starts. When he sees it’s only Betty (only?), he stands abruptly, his entire body on fire, his legs jittery and ready to run.

“Hey,” he repeats. “Archie’s not here, but –“

Betty shakes her head and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Can we talk?”

He swallows. Stupid of him to think he’d get away from this conversation. Jughead waves to the chair next to him. As Betty passes, her perfume tickles his nose. Long gone is the strawberry body spray she used in high school, a sweet, cloying smell. Now it’s a perfume, one that tickles his nose and clogs his sinuses.

They sit there quietly, neither willing to speak first. He’s lost for words, unable to start.

She sits patiently, calmly. Betty seems as if she hasn’t a care in the world, as if they were there to talk about the weather. Part of her training, he realizes. She’s no longer as impulsive as she once was, reaching and grasping and desperate for an immediate answer. This Betty Cooper is a reminder of the past, but only that.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, starting with the simplest of things.

Next to him, Betty shifts. He thinks he hears her sniffle (crying? allergies? derision at his lame start?), and he has to quash his immediately reaction. All he wants to do is reach out to her, to comfort her, to promise her the world to keep her from suffering.

But he’d done that before, long ago, in a completely different world. And he’d been trod upon, brushed aside in favor of her own cruel form of betrayal. Nothing he could have done after would have fixed the wound she’d carved in his soul. Even now, seven years distanced from the teenage woes, it lay between them, still raw and sore and bleeding from the continued betrayals of his life.

He wonders how he would have responded to her if he hadn’t known. If he hadn’t come home one night early to hear her and Archie upstairs. If he hadn’t turned to the Wyrm and listened to Sweet Peas acidic sniping just to get lost among the agave pinas and the juniper berries.

“It’s not,” he stutters, trying to find his footing, unsure of what he wants to say. “I couldn’t stop loving the Betty Cooper I knew. But I also never stopped hating what she did to me.”

The admission is the first emotionally honest thing he’s said in years. It’s painful to realize how deep it lay inside him, how long it took to finally cut out this festering, putrid thing that burrowed into him. Like a tumor, it could only grow, fed by hate and anger and depression. Hate and anger for both of them. It hadn’t turned out like it was supposed to.

Now that it lay out in the open between them, he felt different. Heavier, in some ways. But there was also a release. The pressure that had been building for so long was slowly lowering, as if he’d finally found the valve that would bring things back to normal.

“And I don’t know you,” he said, the words pouring out now. “Seven years, and only a handful of texts, a few voicemails. You’re not the person I remember. Hell, everyone is different from who they were, who I thought they were.”

He pauses to run a hand through his hair. He can feel Betty’s bright eyes staring at him, pleading with him for something, anything, that will make this better.

“We’re both different now, and there’s no way you can still love me. You don’t know me, you know who I was. We can’t just pick up where we left off, even if we wanted to. There’s too much between… Even if we were stupid enough to try,” he trails off, his words meandering as they try to find footing in the rocky space between them.

“We didn’t leave things in a good place,” Betty murmurs in agreement.

She shifts, and he looks at her for the first time since they sat down. Her legs are tucked up against her body, arms wrapped around them. It’s a protective stance. Against him, perhaps, or against the bare truth that he’s put in the open. He can’t blame her, not since he’s protected himself against most of his own life in other, less healthy ways.

Jughead sighs, empty of anything else to say. He stares at the fading light glowing through the leaves. It’s the perfect, picturesque scene of two high school sweethearts reuniting. At least, it was supposed to be. He didn’t know if he ever could do that to himself again.

Archie’s old truck chugs up the street, and Jughead stands. He scrapes the palms of his free hand along his pants, the other hand gripping his book. Archie waves through the windshield with a bright grin, and Jughead gives a half-hearted wave back before going inside.

He’s exhausted; after being mad for so long, it’s strange to be so empty of feeling. He’d give the world to be able to retreat back to Alphabet City and it’s various loan sharks. There, at least, he’d know the pain was no one’s fault but his own.

Jughead closes the bedroom door behind him, shutting out the rest of the world. It wasn’t his business what Betty did despite her attempts to bring him back into her life. He didn’t know if he was ready for that, or if he’d ever be. Ever since he’d been back, her presence gnaws at him, chipping away at the walls he’d built up over the years against her presence, and it frightens him that she’s stepped back into his thoughts so quickly and easily.

Thoughts and ideas collide and churn violently in his head. He throws himself down on his bed, determined to fall asleep despite the chaos.

But this time, sleep doesn’t come as easily as it always has. Words and feelings and phrases splatter against the back of his eyelids, graffiti tattooing images of a world never known. He pushes back against the cacophony until he can stand it no longer. Desperate to empty his thoughts, Jughead turns on the bedside lamp, pulls his laptop out from under the bed, and begins to write more than he’s been able to for years.

#bughead fanfiction #riverdale #i heard you like angst with your angst

[harringrovetrashrat]

The Gobbler II: The Witching Hour

Harringrove Big Bang 2021 is here!!! A huge thanks to @harringrovebigbang for organizing this!  Also a huge thanks to my team, @monsdasarah and @catharrington, who did the art and moodboard, respectively.

But without further ado, here we go.  The Gobbler II.  Time to get cracky.

Steve wasn’t counting the days until the full moon. He wasn’t.

Fine, he was. He was thinking about Billy at pretty much every chance he got. Because, while the blow job had been fucking mind blowing, Billy was… Billy had insisted on them hanging out some, going over rules and such, as well as sharing emergency information should anything happen while Billy wasn’t in control. And Billy was funny. He was smart. He was an asshole.

Check, check, check. Each box for Steve’s Horny/Falling Deeply in Love list had been checked and Steve was struggling. He could deal with Billy being hot, a lot of people were hot, and Steve could get over that. Hell, he’d thought Robin was hot until she very kindly turned him down. But the problem was that Billy wasn’t just hot. Steve liked him. Liked him, liked him. Third grade schoolyard liked him. Because while Billy was snarky and rude and a total dick when he wanted to be, Steve could tell he had a good heart. He saw it in the care Billy took with him regarding everything with The Gobbler. Saw it when Billy mentioned his sister and his eyes softened, even if he called her a shitbird. Hell, Steve watched Billy step over an ant hill instead of on it and his knees went weak.

He was fucked and he knew it.

“I still don’t know,” Robin said, brow furrowed with worry. Steve was finishing up the garlands she needed, weaving together the hay and wheat so flowers could be intertwined safely without fear of them falling out. He sighed and set down the garland before stretching out his fingers.

“Robin--”

“I know, I know,” she said, cutting him off with a sigh as she paced back and forth in the living room while he worked. “But I don’t fucking trust him! And while I’m glad you won’t be traversing the woods--” She cut herself off, eyes narrowing. “You’re both staying inside, yeah? You’re not planning on going looking for it are you?” Steve rolled his eyes.

“We aren’t going to look for The Gobbler in the woods. We won’t even look at the woods.” Steve felt bad, just a bit, when Robin visibly calmed from the reaffirmation, though she did continue to pace. He knew she was just worried about him, but still. He did know what he was doing. Mostly. Enough. Steve stood and wiped off his hands before halting her movements by pulling her into a hug. “I know you’re worried,” he mumbled into her hair. He pulled back, giving her a smile. “But seriously. It’s gonna be okay. I know you don’t trust him, but do you trust me?” Robin scoffed, rolling her eyes a little with a small, fond smile. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“I was gonna say,” she replied with a smirk. “You don’t exactly have the best track record.” She let out a sigh, enough nervous energy finally leaving her body for her to plop onto the couch. “But I get it. I know you won’t let him do anything you don’t like, but I just… Something is… off.” She shook her head as Steve looked away, choosing to go back to finishing the garland instead of responding. Robin was right, and while Steve wasn’t a bad liar by any means, she knew him too well. Robin looked. She listened. She saw his nervous tics and heard the words he didn’t say. So instead, he said nothing and finished the garland as she checked through her notebook and made sure everything was accounted for.

By the time Steve finished, Robin was done packing up the rest of her things.

“Hope tonight goes well,” Steve said, giving her another quick, firm hug as they stood in the doorway. He pulled back, grinning wide. “Say hi to Heather for me,” he said sweetly, getting a shove from Robin as her face turned red.

“Oh my god,” she groaned. “Shut up!” Still, she smiled, and gave Steve a softer, more playful shove. “Have a good night. Don’t stink up the house with your boy fumes.” Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Billy and I both smell great, thank you.” Robin rolled her eyes and headed out, hopping onto her bike and waving one last time as she rode off. Steve waved until he could no longer see her, sighing happily as he went back in the house. It was only a moment however before he kicked it into overdrive. Steve ran to the living room, shoving everything away. He wanted things to be clean and ready, anything breakable moved out of the way. He had no idea how the night was going to pan out, no idea if Billy would even go for him again. How did the curse even work? Would he need a different dick every month? Would their plan even work?

Steve decided that he didn’t care. That they would figure it out. That he would figure this out, no matter what. Billy acted cool and unbothered, but it was obvious that this curse made him… Unhappy wasn’t the right word, but neither was disgusted. Uncomfortable, maybe? Steve could work it out later; right now, he needed to focus on getting the house Gobbler proofed.

Steve was up and out of his seat in record time when he heard the doorbell ring. He had to stop himself in the entryway and take a few deep breaths. It was probably weird how excited he was. How much he wanted this. But, Steve had a crush, a big one, and he was known to have poor judgement when he was into someone. Steve ran his hand through his hair before finally opening the door.

“I was wondering if you were gonna stand there forever or let me in,” Billy joked as he stepped into the house and brushed Steve’s shoulder with his. Steve flushed as he remembered the stained glass window in the front door, where Billy probably saw him run up and stop. He swallowed his embarrassment and followed Billy to the living room. While he had been over a few times, they usually had met up at Billy’s place. Robin’s distrust of Billy made him nervous, put him on edge, so he didn’t like coming to Steve’s often. Which sucked. But today Billy was here. He was here and he was standing in Steve’s living room, looking around with a small smile. “You and Buckley decorate like fucking grandmas,” he said, turning to give Steve a teasing smile, tongue caught between his teeth. It made Steve’s heart stutter.

Yeah, he was royally fucked. This was probably the worst idea he’d ever had.

He was still gonna do it.

“You should do an open mic, really, with all those zingers,” Steve replied. Billy cackled and Steve smirked back. “C’mon. We can come back down here to order pizza and put on something, but I, uh,” he faltered, turning a little red. “I figure you can put your bag in my room?” His nerves made it sound like a question, but he wasn’t the only one feeling a little funny about it, since Billy also went red. He blushed down his neck and Steve wondered how far down it went. To his collarbone? His nips? Steve cleared his throat and gestured to the stairs, leading Billy up silently.

“It’s a nice house,” Billy said quietly, breaking through the tension. “Grandma accents aside.” Steve snorted and opened the door to his room, suddenly anxious for Billy to like it. He had plants on plants, pots on every shelf, every nook, every cranny. Herbs lined his window sill, along with a few succulents. Steve loved plants. Loved the energy they brought. His parents had hated how he had loved to be in the dirt, to feel the magic of earth and nurse it, keep it thriving and strong. They were white magic users, full of spectacle and grace. Steve, well, wasn’t.

The rest of his room was somewhat bland, lots of greens and blues, the wood of his bed frame and desk a nice light brown. Billy looked around, eyes a little wide, setting his bag on Steve’s made bed. His room was cluttered, but organized, and Billy seemed amused at all the little knick knacks Steve had.

“Wow,” Billy breathed. “I don’t know why but I expected more plaid.”

“I don’t know whether to take offense to that or not,” Steve replied with a grin. Billy shrugged, his smile easy going.

“Your choice.” Billy went to the window, looking out at the garden in the backyard. “I’m gonna assume you’re the one who did the garden too?” Steve joined him by the window, looking down.

“Kind of. I do a lot of the gardening, but Robin helps a lot. We like to have native species of plants, and I hate nettles, so she’s the one who deals with them.” It was nice, talking to Billy. He seemed genuinely curious to know Steve and he hadn’t had anyone this interested in him since school, when he still reaped the benefits that came from his last name.

“Native species?” Billy asked, turning to Steve.

“Oh, I could go on for hours, you don’t want--” Steve began, face flushing.

“Dude,” Billy said, huffing slightly as he turned to face Steve more. “I like hearing what you have to say, okay? You don’t gotta censor yourself for me.” And there it was. The soft nougaty bit of Billy Hargrove that made Steve feel soft and squishy and seen.

“Well, why don’t we order the pizza and then we can talk?” Steve asked. He wanted to get out of his room before he shoved Billy onto the bed here and now. Steve had an inkling that Billy felt the same, but he was incredibly nervous that he was just reading too much into the situation. So instead of facing his feelings like an adult, Steve turned and headed downstairs, hearing Billy’s heavier footsteps behind him. He grabbed the phone out of the cradle, punching in the phone number for the best pizza place in town. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Pineapple and onion. I can do ham or no ham.” Billy said it casually, like he hadn’t just spouted out the most disgusting combo Steve had ever heard.

“Oh, dude, I dunno. That’s crossing a damn line--” Steve began, aghast at the idea of pineapple on pizza, much less paired with onion.

“It’s good!” Billy protested with a pout. “Listen, order a medium one and then whatever your dainty tastebuds want. You’re gonna try it and I know you’re gonna like it.” Steve gave him a blank look, unimpressed and unconvinced. Billy just crossed his arms and raised a brow, tilting his head. Steve sighed and when Benny picked up the phone, he ordered.

When the pizzas arrived (pineapple and onion for Billy, while Steve got the olives and green peppers), Billy sat Steve down on the couch, handed him a slice, and sat on the coffee table, staring intently. Steve eyed the pizza, then Billy, then the pizza again.

“Trust me,” Billy said. “It’s good.” Steve sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically before daintily going in for a bite. “That’s a fucking nibble, get some of all of it, asshole.” Steve shot Billy an exasperated look, but he did take a real bite. And… Fuck. That smug asshole was right. The acidity and tart sweetness of the pineapple paired well with the sweet onion and the acidity of the tomato sauce. It was savory and sweet, with some good crunch, and Steve couldn’t help his surprised groan, staring at the pizza in shock. Billy made a choked noise and Steve looked at him, eyes wide.

“It is good,” Steve replied, taking another bite. Billy’s face was flushed, but Steve didn’t pay much attention, snarfing up his slice quickly.

“Told you,” Billy said, grin wide and proud. “It’s good shit. I know my food, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said through his mouthful of pizza. “You win this one, Blue.” At that, Billy paused, giving Steve a confused but curious look.

“Blue?” Steve blushed and realized he’d never actually said that nickname out loud before. Not in real life, at least.

“Yeah, uh, like your uh, your eyes,” Steve stammered out. Billy looked at him, silent, looking torn about something. Finally, his face settled and he snorted, shaking his head.

“Should I call you Brown?” Billy asked, snatching up a slice for himself. Steve fake gagged.

“Oh god no, please don’t.”

“Sure thing, Brown Eyes.”

“Billy, I literally said--”

“You said not to call you Brown. This is different.” Steve groaned while Billy smirked around the string of cheese connecting his lips to the pizza. They continued to joke around while they ate, Billy flinging the olives off his slices, like they had personally offended him. Eventually though, it was starting to get dark. Steve could see the tension and stress building inside Billy as the night went forward, inching closer and closer to the peak of the moon.

“Do you know when it’ll happen?” Steve asked. The pizza boxes had been broken down and put into the compost bin, all the leftovers wrapped in foil and put away. The sun had set and the only light in the house was from the multiple lamps Steve had. Billy had been subdued for the last hour, getting lost in his head. Steve knew because he did the same thing. “Just, like, is it a set time or does it depend on the season?”

“9 PM,” Billy replied softly, his earlier mirth replaced with concern and anxiety. “You don’t have to do this. You really don’t.” They’d had this talk multiple times, but Steve could see the weight on Billy’s shoulders. He knew how it felt to feel like a burden, so he reached out and took Billy’s hand.

“Maybe we met in some weird ways, but you’re my friend.” Billy looked at him, eyes shining a bit. “I wanna help you with this, and if we have a way to keep you inside and distracted all night? Why wouldn’t we?”

“But--”

“You aren’t forcing me into anything, Billy. This is a choice I am making. Clear headed and sure.” Billy visibly relaxed, sagging a little. Steve kept hold of Billy’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You wanna go up to my room?” Billy went red at that, flushing down his neck again.

“Yeah.” They walked up in relative silence, tension creeping again, but this time it was different. Steve felt electricity on his skin, felt heat curl in his belly. Billy sat on the edge of Steve’s bed, already looking out of it. “You can strip and leave your clothes on the dresser if you want,” Steve suggested. Billy just nodded, standing up. He stripped slowly, turning his back to Steve like they weren’t about to have sex. Still, Steve let Billy have his privacy. He did catch a glimpse of Billy’s ass, toned and tight, and he licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and sticky.

“Thank you,” Billy whispered, and if it hadn’t been so quiet in the room, Steve wasn’t sure he would have heard him. Steve nodded, reaching behind him to find Billy’s hand and squeeze. There was a sharp intake of breath and a squeeze back. Looking back at the clock on his nightstand it said 8:59. Steve very suddenly was hit with the vivid memory of his torn jeans last time, and he scrambled to get out of his clothes.

“Shit!” Steve hissed. “God damn it!” He was nearly tripping out of his pants when he heard a low growl start from behind him. He paused, hairs standing on end in anticipation. He knew it was Billy but there was something so different about the timber of the noise. Steve turned to look behind him and Billy was standing there, head hung, hair gone limp, staring at Steve from under his brow. It sent a shiver through Steve, right to his dick. “Hey there,” he said, voice shaky. The Gobbler staggered forward, looking out of depth in these surroundings.

“Schm...eat…?” Steve let out a puff of breath, nervous laughter bubbling in his throat.

“Schmeat,” Steve replied with a nod. It was like flipping a switch. One moment, he was Billy, nervous and and ansty, the next, he was The Gobbler. It showed in the way he seemed to have a singular drive, a singular purpose. The way he heard Steve’s confirmation and everything else seemed to leave The Gobbler’s mind except getting Steve laid out. Strong arms hoisted him up and Steve let out a small squeak of air. “The bed! Put me on the bed!” He said, since The Gobbler was eyeing the window. He landed on the mattress with an oof, looking up as The Gobbler crawled on top of him. It was quick, a blink and he was above Steve.

“Schmeat. Hole.” Steve’s brows shot up.

“Hole? I thought you just sucked?” Did Billy-- The Gobbler wanna fuck him? Like, he definitely wasn’t against that, but he thought Billy had mentioned it was more an oral craving that anything else. The Gobbler growled again, moving down to nose at Steve’s balls. “Oh, shit,” Steve gasped. That was fast. He could feel drool dripping onto his groin and, while he was already getting hard, the process went a little quicker at the feeling.

“Hole,” The Gobbler repeated, more insistent this time.

“Okay?” Steve replied, because he really didn’t--

And then he was suddenly flipped over, face down, ass up, with his cheeks spread, saliva dripping down his crack.

“Oh,” Steve gasped. That’s what he meant. The warm spit cooled in the air of the room, sending a shudder up Steve’s spine. He grunted, arching his back a little. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed out. It ended in a choked off stutter when he felt a wet, hot tongue drag itself over his hole. He could feel the rumble as The Gobbler growled once again, this one less aggressive and more lustful. “That all big guy?” Steve teased, honestly a little desperate to feel more. “C’mon, go at--” Steve cried out when he felt lips against his hole, sucking the skin. “Ohmygodohmygod,” Steve chanted, suddenly painfully erect. He hadn’t been expecting that at all and holy shit did it feel good.

Steve’s reactions were paid no mind as The Gobbler pressed his face into Steve’s ass, a low moan rumbling from his chest. He was salivating, spit already dribbling down Steve’s taint to his balls. He sucked at Steve’s hole, leaving a hickey just to the right of it. Steve keened, dick already starting to leak. Apparently, they weren’t wasting any time today. The Gobbler slurped up his drool, lapping at Steve’s hole, which was already starting to look red and puffy. Steve gripped the sheets, holding on for the ride as The Gobbler’s tongue started making long broad strokes up his crack. Each lick was hot and wet and left Steve shaking. He could feel sweat beading at his temples and on his back. There was a grunt and Steve’s hips were shifted, ass tilted up more. The sting of the burn from the mustache grazing across his skin paired so perfectly with the soft velvet of the tongue soothing over it. Steve’s mind was already fogging over, eyes going a little hazy.

“Shit,” he murmured into his pillow, each stroke of the tongue pulling tiny gasps and moans from him. The sounds alone drove him wild and Steve wished he could grab his dick and stroke, but honestly he had no idea if he would be allowed. Wondered too if he could cum just from this. It was looking quite likely. Especially as The Gobbler started wiggling his tongue inside him, licking into his hole desperately. Steve was loosening up, but apparently it wasn’t enough, seeing as there was a whine from behind him and a nose pushing even harder into his crack. The wiggling was teasing and light, a steady pressure that was driving Steve a little mad. He pushed back, a whimper escaping his lips and fuck, there. He could feel the tongue wiggle in just a little farther as he pushed back, getting another moan from behind him. “Yeah, yeah, fuck,” Steve moaned, starting to steadily roll his hips back against The Gobbler’s face. The hands on his cheeks gripped a little tighter, maybe even enough to bruise. Steve selfishly hoped so.

The Gobbler began to fuck Steve with his tongue, each thrust opening Steve up more and more. He could feel spit dribbling down his crack, down his balls, dripping onto the sheets. His dick was hard, so fucking hard, and Steve tilted his head to look down. There were tiny globs and strings of pre coming from his cock, leaving a small growing stain on the sheets as well. Steve was definitely gonna have to do some laundry after this.

With harsh, heavy breaths, The Gobbler finally pulled back. Already Steve had a poor sense of time, and with his brain steadily melting into a pile of warm, blissed out goo, he had no idea how long The Gobbler had been eating his ass. Like it was his last meal and he was a starving man. Steve couldn’t help the desperate whine that escaped his throat, or the way his ass pushed back, seeking that hot tongue. He jerked when there was cool air blown onto his hole. The Gobbler switched between blowing on the cooling spit dripping down Steve’s taint and his now red and loose asshole. It made Steve shake, made his thighs tremble as sounds were pulled out from deep inside his chest ah, ah, ah. It had him gritting his teeth and clutching the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white. Teeth grazed along the meat of his ass, gently nipping at the skin and making Steve jerk forward with each light sting of teeth. The Gobbler started to suck, marking up Steve’s ass with his mouth like he didn’t know any other way to do it.

Not that Steve was complaining. Like, at all. His ass was probably gonna give him plenty of trouble tomorrow, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. Not when this felt so good. He gasped, sweat dripping down his face and onto the pillow below him as The Gobbler dove in again. Steve’s hands twisted in the sheets, moans practically leaking from his throat at the tongue wiggling it’s way into his asshole again. He was so loose, and just from his tongue. Even the thought made him shudder as more precome leaked from his dick, adding to the stain already spreading on the sheets. When The Gobbler pulled away for air, Steve could feel his asshole flutter, desperate for something to fill it again. He actually yelled when suddenly there was a finger pushing into him. It paused, hesitant, and Steve pushed back against it, hips moving as he fucked himself. A glob of spit slid down his crack and the finger pushed it inside him.

“Oh god,” Steve cried out, feeling his balls start to tighten. “Oh god, oh god, oh god--” And suddenly a hand clamped around the base of his dick, keeping him from cumming. Steve whined, loud and long, starting to turn over and push himself up.

“Mine!” The Gobbler snarled and pressed against his back, pushing him down into the mattress. Steve inhaled sharply as his finger shoved in farther, curling it up as he pulled it out.

“Fuck!” Steve screamed, unable to cum but feeling so fucking desperate. “B-Billy! Please!” He didn’t even really register that he’d called him Billy. Didn’t feel the desperation in the way the second finger pushed in, a little early. But Steve just made a low sound of pleasure, relishing in the burn of the stretch. It was the perfect amount to accentuate the pleasure without overpowering it.

The Gobbler panted into Steve’s ear and he could feel the drool dripping down onto the junction of his neck and shoulder. It shouldn’t have been so hot. Steve shuddered, feeling The Gobbler’s erection grazing against his ass cheek. He wanted it at least between his cheeks if it wasn’t gonna go inside. But The Gobbler didn’t even seem concerned with his own erection, just with touching Steve. He mouthed at Steve’s neck and between his shoulder blades, fingering Steve slowly. The tenderness of the kisses and the changed pace altered the feeling completely, and suddenly it was intimate. The pads of The Gobbler’s fingers massaged his prostate and Steve’s back arched. His hair was nearly wet with sweat, the whole room reeking of musk and sex. Goosebumps pebbled his skin as a shock went through him, the world focused to the sheets below him and Billy, The Gobbler, pressed up close behind him. The Gobbler took his fingers out slowly, pulling back. Steve whined, arm reaching out behind him. But instead, hands grabbed his hips and helped turn him over.

Hair splayed out around him, sheets mussed and wrinkled from being twisted and wrenched tight in his fists, Steve lay there, gazing up at The Gobbler. He hovered above him, hair draping down and shadowing his face. Still, his eyes shone bright, staring into Steve’s so intensely it made his dick leak. It was angry and red, throbbing as it bobbed, nothing giving him enough satisfaction to come. The Gobbler grinned, ducking down to suck one of Steve’s nipples into his mouth. Steve arched into it, hand gripping the back of his head. The Gobbler groaned, low and rumbling, hips rolling and his hard cock smeared pre along the vee of Steve’s hips. Steve was mush. Utter mush. His face was flushed and his eyes were glazed as The Gobbler went down, down, down and finally took Steve’s aching dick into his mouth. With one hard, wet suck, The Gobbler’s head bobbing only one time, Steve came with a shout that stuttered into silence. He came so hard his vision went white for a second. The Gobbler swallowed around him, drool mixed with jizz leaking from the corners of his mouth as he humped the sheets, fast and ruthless. Steve’s toes curled and his legs spasmed, knees tightening around The Gobbler’s ribs.

There was a loud slurp and a smack as The Gobbler pulled off Steve’s dick, letting it flop onto his groin, wet, shiny and softening. He swallowed audibly, letting out a moan as he came into the sheets, damp with sweat and drool. Steve watched him through half lidded eyes, watching as Billy blinked away the remains of The Gobbler. Steve smiled as his favorite pair of blue eyes turned to him, staring at him in awe. He wasn’t sure what other emotions he was seeing; he was too tired to discern much.

“You have got one hell of a tongue,” Steve slurred out. Billy continued to stare at him, eyes wide.

“You… You said my name,” he stammered out. Steve blinked at him, honestly drained and finding it hard to figure out just what Billy meant. And then, as sleep overtook him, it clicked. Fuck.

Steve woke up with a jolt and a sharp inhale. He blinked, looking out his window where the sky was still dark. He sat up, already starting to feel how sore his ass was. Billy must have gone ham on the biting and stubble rubbing, because he felt kinda raw. A good raw though, something that made him smile a bit at each tiny twing.

Then Steve remembered that he had actually shown his whole ass by moaning Billy’s name and a chill went down his spine. Billy wasn’t in the room, wasn’t on the bed, but Steve saw that his jeans were still on the floor, and it made him relax a bit. He got up, tossing on an old shirt and some sweats, before making his way downstairs quietly. The clock read 4:45, so Steve had definitely conked out deeply after he came. Billy wasn’t in the kitchen, but when Steve went into the living room, he saw Billy sitting by the window in the large armchair. He was resting his chin on his fist, just staring at the forest behind the house, lost in his thoughts. He had a glass of water on the table next to him, and didn’t look upset, so Steve took that as a good sign to start. He was quiet as he walked closer, pausing when Billy sighed heavily.

“I can hear you thinking from there, Steve,” Billy said quietly, without any heat.

“Sorry,” Steve replied on reflex. He sat down on the couch, watching as Billy continued to gaze out the window. “I--”

“Why did you say my name,” Billy asked, voice quiet and unsure. Steve looked down at his hands, pulling and tugging at each other as he wrung them together. He didn’t know quite what to say. It would have been weird to call out Gobbler, but he knew what Billy meant. In fact, was kinda shocked he even remembered.

“I… I mean, it won’t change my answer either way, and I don’t mean it as like-- Fuck,” Steve grumbled, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “How do you remember that? I thought--”

“I get… Bits. Not everything. I’m able to remember small things and feelings and small clips, but mostly it’s hazy. I can’t piece it all together. But,” Billy took a breath, deep and bracing. “I didn’t imagine that part, did I?” His voice was calm and unannoyed, but Steve still felt his stomach wriggling around inside him.

“No. You didn’t. I… Billy, I’m selfish,” Steve began, words coming out on a shaky breath. But this needed to be said. And he needed to apologize. “The first time this happened I mean… I hadn’t gotten laid in ages and you were hot and so it worked out. But this… time I--”

“Steve--” Billy said, voice laced with hurt and curiosity.

“Please,” Steve got out, cutting Billy off. “Let me. Let me say it all and then we can. We can talk.” Steve sniffed, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. “This past month getting to know you has been so incredible. You’re a smart guy, just enough of an asshole, and you… You listen to me. And you care. The first thing you were concerned about last month was me, even though you’re under a spell forced to do a bunch of weird shit! Me! You were concerned about me!” Steve could feel Billy watching him, but eye contact would make his throat close up and maybe make him vomit, so he kept them at the table. “I know we don’t know each other super well -- I mean, it’s only been a month -- but I… You’re an interesting person and I fucking like you. I like you so much, Billy. All of you. Seriously.” Steve let out a long breath, closing his eyes to focus on getting the lump in his throat small enough that he could talk. “You need someone to help you and I… I’m too selfish to say no, even though I should because you--”

“Fucking christ, Steve,” Billy said, voice closer than it should be. Steve’s head snapped up and Billy was across the coffee table, leaning forward and bracing himself as he gazed at Steve. He didn’t look mad, didn’t look annoyed. Looked more fond than anything else and Steve felt his stomach do flips that were more along the neutral vein than flips that felt like he was about to start weeping. “You gotta let me get a word in.” Steve looked away again, apology ready to tumble from his lips, but Billy’s hand came and tilted his chin up, making him lose all ability to form thoughts, much less words. “Just to, yanno, condense all that, you said my name because you… you wanted it to be me?” Steve nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up. But when Billy smiled, relieved and excited and hopeful… It was so bright and overwhelming, Steve’s heart started fluttering, all of his insides squirming in joy and delight. “I’ve been so fucking worried. Because I really thought you were just… Humoring me. That this was you feeling like you maybe had to, or just to get some dick while you could--”

“I would never--” Steve began, horrified at the idea of using this against Billy.

“I know,” Billy replied gently, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “I know. It’s happened enough before I was worried I was being swayed into some false sense of security, but,” Billy let out a huffy laugh, smile going soft, “But this is just you. You’re just like this.”

“Like what?” Steve asked, unable to raise his voice above a whisper as he looked at Billy. Took in everything about him in the soft light of the moon. There was a shift in the air, something beautiful and new coming into fruition. Magic fluttered around them, Steve could feel it, bright and eager. It made the house feel warmer, feel fuller, and Steve’s breaths started coming in a little heavier. It took more energy to pull it in, but it was filling and exciting, making his skin tingle and thrum. His fingers itched to run over Billy’s skin. Which, come to think of it, he could do.

“Kind. Good. Silly.” Billy listed, pupils dilating as he moved around the coffee table, hand never leaving Steve’s face. Steve was grateful, unsure he could handle the feeling of loss if Billy had stopped touching him. As Billy sat, Steve’s hand came to settle at the small of Billy’s back, fire sparking in his gut and heart as their skin touched. Billy’s breath came in shaky, stuttering, and Steve leaned closer, their foreheads touching. “When you’re as hot as I am,” and some of the tensions eased at that, a snort escaping Steve before he could stop it, the magic shifting from something waiting for a spark to something more grounded. The feeling of hearth and home. “Yeah yeah,” Billy replied with a grin, “I know, I know. But really. People… Don’t see the person behind the abs.” It was silly, but Steve understood what he meant. Understood the struggle of people not just being blind to the person inside the body, but refusing to look beyond what they saw. “So thank you. For not being like everyone else.” Billy kissed him then and--

Steve was a witch, had been born into magic and felt it thrumming inside him. He’d been open to magic all his life, had felt the shift in magic during the change of the seasons, had done spells that had filled the room with power. Steve had seen amazing feats and more, but this kiss sent something through him. Something strong and vibrant and like nothing he’d ever felt. A crashing wave of signals and comments from the Earth and the magic within. He was overwhelmed with everything that coursed through him from the chaste kiss, hand pressing Billy closer as he tilted his head, mouth opening slowly. The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t hot and heavy. But it made Steve’s skin prickle with goosebumps, made his heart race and his lungs squeeze. He pressed closer, feeling Billy’s hand drop from his cheek to his shoulder, thumb brushing over his collar bone. It was a languid kiss, drawn out between a drag of the tongue, a light bite, the shared breaths between them.

When Billy finally pulled back, Steve knew his cheeks were flushed and he was panting just a little. It would have been embarrassing if Billy wasn’t also blushing, all the way down to his chest.

“I think,” Steve said, trying to catch his breath. “I think that we should go on a real date.” Billy’s laugh was bright in response, his head falling to rest at the junction of Steve’s neck and shoulder.

“Of course,” he breathed out. “Of course that’s what you’d say first.” Before Steve could even pretend to be offended, Billy kissed his neck, soft and sweet, his mustache dragging along Steve’s skin just a bit. “I’d love that. I’d love that a lot. But maybe we should get some sleep first, Brown Eyes.” Steve could feel the energy draining out of Billy now that the air had been cleared, and sleep started to tug at him as well. Even as he rolled his eyes at Billy’s simple nickname. However, he would have been lying had he said it didn’t thrill him and make his insides flutter.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Steve said in agreement. They moved together, hands still grabbing gently at each other, both of them unable to separate for long, if at all. It was like the truth had magnetized them and they just couldn’t fight the need to connect. They fell into the bed, smiling and warm and excited, ready for what this change would do for them.

As much as Steve wanted a languid morning filled with slow kisses and gentle touches in the lazy morning sun, Billy had places to be. Specifically, helping his sister Max.

“She’s moving in with her boyfriend, finally,” Billy replied when Steve asked, mouth full of egg and toast. It should have been gross, but Steve only found it endearing. “I won’t say I think it’s their best idea, but they’re at least keeping separate rooms. I know Max needs her own space.” Steve nodded, using the corner of his toast to burst the yolk of his fried egg.

“It’s good of you to help out,” Steve said, dipping his toast into the yolk as he cut through the egg with the edge of his fork.

“More like it’s required because I missed helping her move into her last place. Not like I was fucking sick or anything.” He set down his fork, plate already clean, before downing the coffee in the mug before him. “Sorry to eat and go, I would really rather stay here and--”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Steve said with a chuckle. He was also eager to talk more about them, but promises made were promises kept. “We have plenty of time, yeah? I mean, you can always come back here later,” Steve purred, thrilling a bit when Billy’s cheeks flushed.

“Don’t tempt me or I won’t leave,” Billy said, standing and leaning down to cup Steve’s cheek, kissing him lightly.

“That a promise?” They were distracted by the door opening, separating slowly. Robin came in as Billy was leaving the kitchen, both of them awkwardly giving the other space while pretending they weren’t doing just that. “How’d it go?”

“We’ll see this winter,” Robin replied, snatching the last bit of his egg between her fingers and quickly shoving it into her mouth.

“Hey!”

“Snooze you lose, dingus,” she said with a grin. “Last night go...okay? Anything happen?” She searched his eyes for any hint of deception and, for once, Steve wasn’t really worried about what she’d find.

“Kind of?” Steve said, mouth tugging into a smile. Robin furrowed her brow. “Nothing bad, seriously, all good things.”

“Steve?” Billy asked, knocking on the door frame. Steve stood and went over, leaning in close. “I gotta head out, but I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Sounds good, Blue,” Steve replied. Billy just smiled, eyes darting to Robin for a moment before he ducked in for a kiss.

“Catch ya later, Brown Eyes,” Billy replied as he headed out the door. Steve rolle dhis eyes, but really couldn’t help the smile on his face. Billy left with a wave and wink, disappearing into his car, and leaving Steve feeling smitten on the doorstep. He watched Billy’s car go, jumping when Robin’s voice came from right behind him.

“So that’s what happened, huh?” She asked, voice lightly amused. Steve blushed and shut the door, turning to give her a sheepish look.

“I did say it wasn’t bad.” When Robin didn’t reply with a quip, Steve paused, smile freezing on his face. “Rob?”

“I’m happy for you, Steve, really, I am,” she said, and Steve could hear the ‘but…’ coming from a mile away. “But I still think you need to be careful.”

“Robin, please--”

“It’s not about me trusting him this time.” Steve looked up at that, curious. “It’s because… Steve. I’ve only seen you this smitten with one other person in my life, and that was Nancy.” That. That made Steve freeze. He’d loved Nancy fiercely, too fiercely, and had been utterly smashed when she’d broken it off. Had been depressed for months. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Oh.” Steve wasn’t sure how to respond. Because he didn’t think he was that attached yet. Even if the idea of never talking to Billy again made it hard to breathe and made his lungs tighten and made his eyes water--

Oh fuck, Steve thought.

#stranger things #steve harrington #Billy Hargrove #harringrove big bang 2021 #crack #fluff #some angst i guess #gotta get it all in there #lemon #like if u don't like it sour this will not be for u lmao #harringrove